Hot Metal Bridge

Current Issue : Number Twenty-Five

Conversation With An Airport




This be the real hanky panky; we are now in danger of becoming less solid. About to take off, we the betwixt have what to read and less looming, death to consider. Still at it, I see. Ah yes, the itch. Not the ebb and flow, but a line. Two guys in fatigues keep watch; how faded their greens. What we expect from soldiers or not, I listen for where the weapons go. Chubby children cry, run away from their mothers.




Always some customer asking for Pumpkin Latte, so you give them Pumpkin Latte and they say no, no latte. You ask to yourself, then what you want? Would it be wrong to ask if this is what she thought of when she thought of America? The coffee stand is not a happy place.




Big woman towers at the gate, stretches her big body as if she read a manual of tips for preventing unpleasant travel and blood clots.Ilike the rest of us. We are less evolved, haven’t quite made it to the top of Maslow’s happy triangle, and so we have longing. I realize I will die no more privy to the brain/body melee than I am now. New pills the day’s news: stay clear away from milk and light. Above our heads, a conversation with actor Dwayne ‘The Rock” Johnson.




Surprise surprise, the long round world stretches inward. My chatter roams wherever I roam, a pack of wind-up teeth, red-lipped with plastic feet. They scuttle cobble corners in Venice and launch themselves, a sacrifice, from cherry blossoms in the east. This “heavenly.” You are not alone, newly formed inhabitant. Couldn’t be the sun that speaks, my home-hop plane after plane, a squatter in my own country. Baby runs happily past with bright green blanket, away from his lovely young mother.

Lisa Markowitz received an M.F.A. from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Her  poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such journals as Colorado Review, Interim, American Poetry Journal and Portland Review.