by Donal Mahoney

Like that broad in an apricot bra
hanging over the sill
of her tenement window, the sun
is over me now, its nectar
laughing and falling.

I don’t have a barrel,
not even a goblet,
so I whirl underneath
hoping I drown.

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, MO. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Public Republic (Bulgaria), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey), Poetry Friends, Poetry Super Highway, Pirene’s Fountain (Australia) and other publications.