J. Rohr

DOWN LIKE A HAMMER

Chained up entrances change businesses
From shops to mausoleums,
Though the neon still shines
Promising some soul simmers in the hollow.
Raindrops pelt tap a hat brim
Beating out a polyrhythm prediction:
The flutter of a heart grasping at silence.
Forty years in the same space
Feeding folks with a greasy spoon
The neighborhood always welcome,
Always thankful,
No more.
The grave is dug, and the corpse is sold
To pay the last bill.
Strolling rain swept pavement
Knowing the road isn't long enough
To walk anywhere better
Picture a swan dive into concrete,
But first spend days trying that cologne,
Whiskey Regal, so many here own.
Asleep, dreaming of sleeping,
Until one night the wolves howl
Out of an alley chomping at gold
Biting off fingers to swallow rings.
They break like piñatas.
Never knew you had in you,
Yet here we are.
So, sign the confession.
Let us know you went down
Knocking out teeth like a hammer;
Carnival barking,
“Un lugar solitario
Proves la vida no vale la pena.”


J. reads "Down Like a Hammer":



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J. confesses: "This poem is the type of noirish narrative I always enjoy. The city’s a vivid character, indifferent host to people eating each other to survive the graveyard metropolis, while cops make confession a trap rather than release. It’s also a crime anyone could commit. Dark times welcome sharper fangs."

J. ROHR is a Chicago native with a taste for history and wandering the city at odd hours. In order to deal with the more corrosive aspects of everyday life he writes the blog www.honestyisnotcontagious.com and makes music in the band Beerfinger. His Twitter babble can be found @JackBlankHSH.