Copihue Poetry

I took a survey from the amusement park just to tell
them their nachos suck, and I hope my feedback will

help them see boasting the west coast’s tallest tower
of terror isn’t grounds for skimping on authenticity

and fresh ingredients. I struggle with when to tell the
truth and when to find ways to step around it as if

my words are potholes no public works department
has been able to fill in which so many tires have

thudded down without warning, and isn’t that how
we feel when the punches to our guts are actually

love taps designed not to knock out our wind, but
to simply knock in some sense? The job awaiting me

is a perfect fit, but is to go from daily breathing in a
Long Beach ocean breeze to struggling to exist in an

Austin summertime sauna grounds for questioning
the doors that are opened for me versus the cracked

windows someone forgot to close? Then again, maybe
it is okay to brag about the heights you possess because

allowing a man to survey his life from two hundred
feet before he falls to the earth is an attraction that

can’t be taken for granted because who doesn’t want
a view of their life, unobstructed, blazoned with clarity,

ripe with flavor.