Here is a poem from Marc Zegans from his new collection The Underwater Typewriter.

San Diego

We stare at the surf
at the end of longer days
beyond the breakers

She lies in the sand
I return to the sharp waves
that swept up my son

We stand on the cliff
The sound of surf dragging rocks
is her gift to me

Toby’s 19th hole
late the morning for eggs
We enjoy the grease

In Balboa Park
A fantasy of old Spain
We walk hand in hand

Pollo Asada
under the tarp at Tower 3
I head for the waves.

She at Tower 3
Me in late winter waves
sucked under, alone

Her house is repaired
Landscaping is made complete
so she can leave

Cheap Chinese massage
in a strip mall far away
Li Li rubs her feet

Good chips at Lucha
The only place I drink Orange Band
She brings tequila

Letters to Nora
Read under the influence
in Wills’ Fine shop

I’m dying inside
Nothing will stop the bleeding
except for your kiss.

— Marc Zegans

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