Caffe Villa Jovis
Joshua Jones Our table splits a carafe of red and waits on the sandwiches we wish were steaks. Caprese on toast is not enough after a two hour hike past homes even God can’t afford. A plate of fried prawns and squid a table away makes me regret the kitsch from Rome; Rich insists he can’t have any, then does. I try not to watch, staring down the mountain I’ve imagined killing us all, what the report would say. “Students choked with ash as they talked Pliny and Fiorelli.” All this way to beat the bounds of a dead mans house, to stand at Tiberius’ cliff envying the ones he lofted into the blue. And then, chair legs skip across the pavers⸺ there’s Rich, his hands at his red throat, about to erupt. |
Joshua Jones, originally from the Shenandoah Valley, is a third year candidate for the MFA in creative writing at UMass Boston. He has poems published in or forthcoming from Fourteen Hills, Coldnoon: Travel Poetics, and The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review among others. He lives in Dorchester with his wonderfully nerdy wife Lesleigh and their miniature dachshund Guinivere.
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