Adam Day


Below a white balcony
a second cousin

strokes my hand. Locked
in his pickup. Stashed

eyes. Ski-masked. Just
try – aim between

the eyes. His ratcheted
hand apes a trigger pull.


The citizen’s daughter

into his room. Thinking
her his wife

come back
and pleased to see

the spirit
of improvisation

alive and well
he gave himself

to her. Soft hand
under a hen. Next

morning they
could be heard

to one another

“What are you
laughing at?”


Adam Day‘s forthcoming collection is Winter Inventory (Sarabande Books, 2015). He is the recipient of a 2010 Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship for Badger, Apocrypha, and of a 2011 PEN Emerging Writers Award. His work has appeared in the Boston Review, Lana Turner, APR, Guernica, Iowa Review, BOMB, AGNI, Kenyon Review and elsewhere. He also directs the Baltic Writing Residency in Latvia, Scotland, and Bernheim Forest.