Randall Mann

Complaint

It was a lower-
Nob-Hill affair, no shower,
no grower, our arc
like an involuntary spit
at the urinal: a pull; a splash of blue.

How could one predict
cozy slurs over Sidecars,
strenuous humming?
Parliament of scowls at the Owl Bar?
But what I would have given. To be a lone,

rolled, superfluous
r in his world! Compliant,
I measure attempts
at love against some fictive monster
alive. I lick a fleck of sleep from his eye . . .

The moon is a stye.
The foyer, my brightest star.
Help me down the line
of antibacterial goodbye.
The little black car on the screen is coming.

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Randall Mann is the author of three poetry collections, most recently Straight Razor (Persea Books, 2013). A new collection, Proprietary, is forthcoming from Persea in summer 2017. He lives in San Francisco.