Brian Fanelli, Spring•Summer 2017

Long Nights with B
Brian Fanelli

B liked to raise his fists,
sneer at me with booze breath,
College boy, what you got on me, huh?

B liked to call next morning,
not to apologize, but to plan the night,
promise to buy first rounds.

B liked to forget how he tangled with friends, Continue reading “Brian Fanelli, Spring•Summer 2017”

Brian Fanelli, Summer 2016

Two Poems

Wandering South Street with You
Brian Fanelli

The day will be fleeting,
so I want to photograph you
near neon lights, storefront mannequins
in pink corsets and red fishnets,
your hair tucked under a knit hat,
some brown strands visible behind your ears.
I want to photograph all of you—
your chipped gold nail polish,
black stockings hugging your thighs,
white smudges of salt on your boots,
the plastic mustache you bought
as a gag and wore as we drifted
shop to shop, café to café.
By sunset, our hands will unlink,
and we will drive home,
that two-hour Turnpike haul.
After you drop me off,
I’ll glance back and remember
this day, here on South Street with you,
when your hand curled into mine,
and we pretended Continue reading “Brian Fanelli, Summer 2016”

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