Poetry By John Dennis

Judith Jackson CC




Ferments Sweetly

At 2:13 a.m.
the pharmacy glows alone
like something radioactive.

Inside, a man buys antacids,
sleep medication,
and a banana.

The cashier has vines tattooed
up both arms--
dark green leaves twisting toward his throat
as though his body
is being slowly reclaimed.

Outside, the city sweats through its clothing.

Sirens move somewhere distant
like wounded animals.

A woman in high heels sleeps in a bus shelter
beside a dead pigeon.

Nobody stops.

A teenager with headphones
spray-paints flowers across an ATM.

The flowers look carnivorous.

Steam rises from subway grates.
Garbage ferments sweetly in alleyways.
Neon reflects in puddles
the color of poisoned fruit.

Somewhere above the avenue
thousands of people lie awake together
scrolling glowing rectangles in the dark,
their faces lit blue-white
like campers telling ghost stories around a fire.

The man exits the pharmacy carrying his small white bag.

For a moment, he pauses beneath the traffic light.

Red.

Green.

Red again.

No cars pass.

Still, he waits.

As though somewhere beneath the concrete,
beneath the cables and rats something enormous
is breathing.

​


John Dennis is an American-born writer living in Malmö, Sweden. He served in the U.S. Navy, later worked as an English teacher, and now writes fiction and poetry exploring institutional dread, memory, isolation and the thin line between the psychological and the supernatural. His work has appeared in Beyond Words Magazine, The Good Life Review, NUNUM, and elsewhere.