A Journal of Poetry and Kindred Prose

Alan King

is a Cave Canem fellow and a Vona Alum whose poems have appeared in Audience, Alehouse, Boxcar Poetry Review, Indiana Review and MiPoesias, among others.

When he is not sending out poems to journals, he’s chasing the muse through Washington, DC—people watching with his boys and laughing at the crazy things strangers say to get close to one another.

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Crackle of thunder.
Lightning pulses in a vein
above the clouds. I hold you

outside of El Pollo Sabroso
while Columbia Heights roars

in the air around us, or roars
like the animal of greed roaming
the streets unleashed

and unmuzzled with its collar
of spikes. Sometimes I wonder

if I’m living in Revelations.
Hate masquerades as the church
with its noose and pitchfork,

calling for the president’s head,
and the politicians are Judas.

But there you are
an on-time gospel,
a missing book of the bible,

a courier glowing
with something divine.

Your halo a kangol cocked
above vanilla bean locs. You wrap
your arms around my neck. Something

inside me flashes like lightning
above a caravan of wind carrying

the moist scent of what’s to come.