Regrets, in the Style of Clue
Your ex at Home Depot with the mower
blades and your cut off jeans, or mom
in the dark garage, her face blossomed
plum, or teen at clinic and his chipped
pink polish, or the sober Juggalo
at Red Cross and a matte black BB gun.
The psychic by the door and spirits
urging, Trust him. Dan on the bridge
without wallet or phone, or yourself
on the bridge with the bag of chips.
Your coach and the veins and callous
grip and the No man lifts
because he’s happy. Speech started
and sputtered dead under the swing
of a single bulb, or the drag queen
denude of shadow and dress with the trust
fall to bed, or from his studio the city
behind the quilted curtains, or any black
in your vision. Dan in the cookie aisle
and a tin of durian straws, with the ten-speed
in the quad and floodlights, with the snap-
back in the gyms, with a keychain,
with the triceps, with the dumplings,
with the train set in the snowstorm,
with the statuesque man in the city,
in the sun, in the closet, in a doorway,
in a room that smells of laundry or copper.
Eric Tran is the author of the chapbooks Revisions (forthcoming from Sibling Rivalry Press) and Affairs with Men in Suits (Backbone Press). He is the winner of the 2015 New Delta Review Matt Clark Prose Award and was a finalist in the 2015 Indiana Review 1/2K Prize and the Tinderbox Poetry Prize. His work appears in or is forthcoming in Diagram, Indiana Review, Black Warrior Review, and elsewhere. He is a medical student at the University of North Carolina and holds an MFA from UNCW. For more, visit veryerictran.com.