Tom Pescatore

The Corsica


The window above

seems open, though I can’t

feel the winter winds burying

my old car in ice across the street,

so tomorrow, with wool hat pulled

down tight and jacket zipped

up to my chin, I’ll be out there like

an ice fisherman chopping away at the outside and,

Christ, the inside of the damned thing

all frozen, and when it melts it’ll short

out my radio, drip by drip

causing the digital clock to read

1:Ho or 1:68 and Joe says it like,

“Oh, it’s one-H-zero!” outside the diner

where Den had to get Spaghetti and garlic bread

with no meatballs, and we drank coffee together

into the night thinking, what are we gonna do now?


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Tom PescatoreTom Pescatore grew up outside Philadelphia, he is an active member of the growing poetry/lit scene within the city and hopes to spread the word on Philadelphia’s new poets. He maintains a poetry blog: His work has been published in literary magazines both nationally and internationally but he’d rather have them carved on the Walt Whitman bridge or on the sidewalks of Philadelphia’s old Skid Row. 

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