Previous Feature: Alan Britt
Alan Britt was invited in August, 2015 by the Ecuadorian House of Culture Benjamín Carrión in Quito, Ecuador to participate in the first cultural exchange of poets between Ecuador and the United States. In 2013 he served as judge for The Bitter Oleander Press Library of Poetry Book Award. His interview at The Library of Congress for “The Poet and the Poem” aired on Pacifica Radio, January 2013. His latest collection is Violin Smoke (Irodalmi Jelen Könyvek, 2015), translated into Hungarian by Paul Sohar. He teaches English/Creative Writing at Towson University.
Friday Night Blues —after John Primer
Like machetes slicing sugarcane,
guitars coiled the silky surface
before tasting residence
below sweet smoky roots.
Nervous energy, handfuls of ice,
like the day they dragged
the two of us into this god
Like ancestors’ pies, piping rhubarb,
gooseberry, & that quintessential
ugly peach pie, plus cornbread &
Navy beans to survive the war years.
Like there’s this crow
surrounded by townsfolk
& everyone’s slamming mescal,
& crow tries his best to keep up,
but it’s useless.
It’s just like that, but
before that, like the time
just before the one
ripping primordial scales
off me one by one.
It’s just like that but not like
that at all—thorns, mostly,
some golden hibiscus stamens,
but not enough to make me choke,
no lasting harm, no more than
that, hardly more than that.