Sylvia Jones
DON’T FORGET THE APPLE PANCAKES
Should be a crime to know
Jane Jacobs is rolling in her
grave over that too-slight
West Village margin Far be
it for me to comment on the
grotesque overrun of tech
bros and finance brats
affirming what was not
so long ago a reliable
left liberal enclave
Someone in a study
next to me is speaking
in what seems like Mandarin,
but they just said three times
adderall, adderall, adderall
although it was just me
drinking a yuzu spritz
and the couple down-
stairs on the steps talking
about venison with romanesco
A hassle-less energy concedes
our mutual fate and the silver-
lining on the dog shit stained
sidewalk is that we can get
what we need without
giving it away If only
there were an Audi
blue wagon crash
noise only once every
other hour like clockwork
with the cops chasingthree dudes down the alley
all we can see and hear is
get on the ground
I’m looking at the other
black person here, his name
is Jamaal There’s a white guy
on stage puppeteering a rubber dog
Last night I dreamt I got a hand-
written rejection letter for some
poems I didn’t remember submitting
and then I went on a two week trip
to a beach in Greece but realized
when I got there I didn’t pack any
bathing suits
Sylvia Jones is the author of Television Fathers (Meekling Press, 2024) and Dope Calisthenics, forthcoming from Relegation Books this Fall. Jones serves as an editor for Black Lawrence Press and is a senior reader for Ploughshares. She lives and writes in Baltimore, Maryland.