e. pluribus

A classic American sailor
sips a cocktail in Honolulu, his biceps
inked with daggers, roses, ships, beautiful
women with easy eyelashes.

In parlors and bars life is simplified
to red, green, yellow bound by dark.
How quickly these nights will dollhouse

off the coast of Normandy, white
shirtsleeves brushing past each other
along narrow submarine hallways,
the grass skirts of the pin-ups beneath
swaying to the rhythm of sonar.

A realtor plants an open house sign
in the bloodstained sand beside
a beached sperm whale, says sure
it's got some flaws but you can't deny
it's got good bones, very good bones.

The landlord will wait in his sandcastle
to charge you for the collapsing walls,
for the mold, the vultures. He will spend
your security deposit on ambergris.

Phoebe Blake is a tattoo apprentice and visual artist living in Tucson, Arizona.