
1 minute read
Dislocation
BY JORDAN MOUNTEER
Out here you are as far from other people
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as the city will permit. Tide’s fluidic compost
like halitosis kicked up along the shore’s
receding gum line. The sloppy chug of waves
lip smacking cement pylons becomes a nervous tic,
enough to make you irritable for what it implies
about the usual awkward response to a diagnosis:
Dysthymia. So clinically Greek you almost laugh.
When a friend asks, you resort to Wikipedia.
It is easier than describing sadness
as oceanic: breakers slugging interference
down an infinite timeline in one direction.
Or, like October, as a foregone conclusion.
It isn’t until you wander back to catch a bus
and notice starlings nested under the eaves
of a Korean grocery, divebombing pedestrians
who have no interest in their naked chicks –
the stupidity of birds acting out an evolutionary script.
Attraction becomes little more than sheer refusal
of extinction. Forms of survivability. Everything seems
to parallel the never-ending task of getting by.
Midday showers accelerate on schedule
while complete strangers huddle together
under Plexiglas shelters. There is a heavying inside.
An excess of love or sadness bleeds
into the many dark angles of your bones in song.
Just that. A harp of nerves, aching.

Jordan Mounteer’s poems have appeared in Canadian and American publications and have won or been shortlisted for a number of awards. His first book, liminal, came out with SonoNis Press in 2017.