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11 O'Clock for Allen Ginsberg This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By , Des Moines, IA
Dead was the car
Out of gas when
I arrived at Jack's place.
When I came in, I saw he had
Two girls in the apartment.
One danced with him. One sat
Down, presumably, she was mine.
The record player vomited nicely
Tango music for us.
Ultimately, the crackle of the television
Mounted to the wall plaster-cast iron windows like university doors.
We danced for half an hour,
Jack and I and the girls.
I went to the bathroom for a minute.
I looked into a dusty mirror.
My eyes had a hue under them,
Blue like a church Baptist's lake,
Transcendental that I never touched or was in.
This told me I should leave at the time.
So I said good-night to Jack and the girls.
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye good-bye good-bye, good-bye
So he didn't know what I said
Until the time by which I had safely returned home.
Opening the door, I saw my jazz spontaneity living room.
For lunch, I poached aborted eggs.
For dinner, I threw out my radio and wrote instead.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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