Three Poems by Jason Barry

Morning Squeeze

“Not from around here,” the guy
Who nudges me at breakfast—
Half camo-clad, a quarter ZZ Top—
“Though her assets, man, are gorgeous.”

At least it isn’t August.

“Name one thing he did
To divide our Christian country.”
Scottsdale. Mesa. The burbs.

“That suitcase full of ballots.
You seen it?” I haven’t.

Vuelta

Not what you’d expected: the water brown
(no striped umbrellas on this stretch of beach),
packs of screaming children, and hawkers pushing
whatever they can: melted bars of chocolate,
some knockoff glasses or a stick of gum.
Dog shit on the boardwalk. A stream
of traffic after evening rain . . .
Even the name misleads: Playa Romántica
(as if you’d bring a lover to this place),
this town you say has nothing on Cancun
or Cabo with its rooftop bar hotels,
the Insta-perfect sunsets and white sand,
where you didn’t speak Spanish, “not a lick,”
the locals barricaded out of sight;
where drinks would come to you both day and night.

Mid-Autumn

When you left,
my place became
disheveled: a sluff of clothes
beside dirty sheets,

the window sills
blanketed with dust,
my golden ficus slumped
over the sink. Desire

failed. August light
turned to brittle husk.
It’s been over
a month since you’ve been gone.

After my showers now—
the bathroom window
cracked for cool air—
I leave warm

droplets on my skin,
the steam-stick
on the mirror. Another
person comes to wipe it off.

Jason Barry holds an MFA from Boston University, where he was a Robert Pinsky Global Fellow, and is pursuing further studies at St Anne's College, University of Oxford. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in 32 Poems, Barrow Street, Poetry Ireland Review, Crab Creek Review, The Cortland Review, Thrush Poetry Journal, Cimarron Review, and elsewhere. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and other awards, and his poetry was recently selected by Ada Limón to feature on the The Slowdown, a podcast supported by American Public Media and the Poetry Foundation.