by DS Maolalai
they told me they’d been
to his place more than once.
this old drunk who came by
on occasion with no-one to talk to.
this was a corner shop winestore.
we sold him his vodka—
cheap stuff and not
what he said he was used to in Poland.
they were older than me then,
though younger than now,
when I’m writing this. and he
was still older, and older
to my eyes again. old as canal-locks;
the rust on them. as unvarnished
wood. they’d go there for Christmas
to give him some company. brang
along Stoli—what else as a gift? and he tried
hard to host them. poured out stew
from a pot full of strong Polish
spices. it was David who told me—
how sadness boiled dry. how they’d sat
so uncomfortably on his
two good chairs at his
table. how he’d fallen asleep
on the bed while they ate;
the uncomfortable feeling of seeing
old men without power
while they listened through the door
to a fight between his housemate and landlord.
DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as “a cosmopolitan poet” and another as “prolific, bordering on incontinent.” His work has been nominated twelve times for BOTN, ten for the Pushcart, and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections: “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016), “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019), and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022).
Little Leaf Literary Journal 