Benjamin Jenkins, poem, poems, poetry, writing

I only drink gin

She exclaimed with her head jutted forward

Face adorned with a wild grin.

The tree has been

Shoved through the door screen.

Trunk sweating sap

Tinsel hanging like frozen tears.

The relic regresses into the corpse of a Pine.

Her laugh tasted like York Mints

51 weeks after Christmas.


You said that we would grow

So I am patiently waiting

For that time to come.

The crowd lined the parade

When the man made masquerade

Showed its drunken rage.

Guarantee me you will go down in the 4th

I will guarantee we both get paid.

I remember your puffy eyes

Dancing, knuckles raised in a daze

Apologies, perfumed by lies.

The round bell will signify

The beginning and the end.

The gloves have been dropped

There’s still time for a cheap shot.


You said things would be different tomorrow

So I am patiently waiting

For the rays of the sun to rise.

Climbing fast in burning flask

There’s fire in your eyes

And water in your veins.

The sand between your toes

Swirls with the incoming tide

On the shore of your memory bank.

Definition guarantees tomorrow never to arrive


You said to never count crows

So I am patiently waiting

For the three black birds to take wing.

Perched with cloak and dagger

On the power cable

Outside my bedroom window.


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