Poetry by Roy Christopher

               Rob LeBer CC




PALE BLUE EYES

I woke up on the couch 
At the 18th Street House
There was no sign of life 
Save the sound of “Pale Blue Eyes”

I only had a sleeping spot
Because someone else got popped
The night before in The City
Trespassing and tagging graffiti

Smelling old beer and stale perfume
I thought of you as my moon
As the sun of afternoon 
Stripped and striped the room

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IN CHICAGO

In Chicago,
I always lived in half-basements
Garden Apartments, they call them there

Never fully underground
But always potentially buried 
By the weight of the stories overhead

One night
I heard my upstairs neighbor crying 
Through the floor

I would’ve gone up 
To check on her
But I was already crying myself

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Roy Christopher is an aging BMX and skateboarding zine kid. That’s where he learned to turn events and interviews into pages with staples. He has since written about music, media, and culture for everything from books and blogs to national magazines and academic journals. He holds a Ph.D. in Communication Studies from the University of Texas at Austin. As a child, he solved the Rubik’s Cube competitively.

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