East Orange Must

by Steven J. Serafiani

I still remember the must of
that couch I slept on-
an East Orange must.
The man across Hoboken smiled as
he ate chinese food but
he didn’t share
any nostalgia. Just fits of the
women he didn’t meet thus didn’t
It was all just one big swing back
then. Transmuted into a transient down
garden land, a lush fragrant garden land.
And from the man sleeping on orange
must, the night
before Jessica recollect, that Italian
beauty hair
grip on beach tongue wag. He gave a tap on
orange couch for the
dust particle float in furnace vent
blind flutter and
remembered the women he met yet
didn’t love.
You will write a book about all of
the women you didn’t love properly;
the Hoboken stranger eating chinese
loses teeth to a gum slip sigh. An eight year
ago moment of must.
Nostalgia for the unloved.