Three poems by Logan Mayfield


Spork's Poetry
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Three poems by Logan Mayfield



The rain is splashing its change

all over the street. Bill's Laundromat

breathes the smell of humid

clothes. The Korean market opens

in red neon. In 1979 my eyes

emigrated from the Middle

East via bus. I see the color

of rain in Arabic, but my tongue

loses meaning in translation.

I am a witness being interrogated

by myself and I won't talk before

my attorney arrives. Trash cans

are shiny, new trees lining our curbs,

they grow every year. A cat was stuck

in one yesterday. My radio is a man

from Atlanta. Its warmth is lonely

and far away. These static people

scratch in and out like channel 8.

They once made me think of suicide

every night. Umbrellas yellow

the sidewalk. Licking the world's rough

palm, the cat, eats his reflection.

He is in stripes and I am wearing

my going out skin. Tonight, I am more

than an idea.


Poem for Frank O'Hara

If only cigarettes could be smoked

on the other side of the street.

It's been raining

for a decade even the sky is blue.

I have that looking out

Of the back window of a car hand

On the glass kind of feeling.

Today is so yesterday. Current

Events can't keep up.

Why am I telling you this

I can see from your eyes

and nightgown hair.

In 1966 you were thinking

of next Thursday as I'm doing now.

You might know this

was everything black and white

in the 40's? Your knuckles

smell of smoke and theatres.

That outfit is much too large

who will sleep with you now?

I am endlessly walking west inside

Of the movie inside of me

Searching for newer people.

Is this anything like you?

I'm in a Socratic mood

and you want to dance.

Let me have one more drink

and I'll explain this all again.


Sold Sticker Over the For Sale Sign in the Yard

Your 1974 brown couch's guts dandelion across your porch. Folded beer cans ding in a November square dance. We lost our virginity

on that couch in your basement seven and a half years ago.

We searched between the cushions but only found change. After you died the couch moved outside.

Does anyone still watch scratchy infomercials until cartoons? On Saturdays, I sit on the left side of the couch your legs no longer over mine. I bring the cheap beer we drank in high school.

I swipe the dust or snow or puddles of rain off the cushions onto the porch. I peel bubbled paint off railings, tap boot heels on whining slats and sometimes whine back.

The windows behind the couch look like the house across the street and me.

Your Chevrolet driveway has two trash cans in it and the corpse of a bird. It doesn't show any signs of a struggle. Your trees are undressed often and sometimes they're not aware, but today a bird sits on a high dead branch looking for something.


Logan Mayfield received a B.A. in English from the University of Utah. His poems have previously appeared in Enormous Rooms. He was the recipient of a third place poetry prize in the 2009 Utah writing contest. He spends most of his time between Salt Lake City, San Francisco, Portland, and Santa Monica. His poems are forthcoming in several places.