Derek Graf - Poetry

The One You Like the Most

by Derek Graf

For all I know, the lights

are judged for seeping.

There’s harm in asking

where you’re from.

I keep two crutches

and one broken lamp

in my closet. Look,

the steam pipes walk

right into the street

before they explode,

the crowd going wild.

I had to cancel every

streaming service

in the building so you’d

look past the little fog

in my dining room.

You thought you’d last

forever until you grew

senile about the river.

I found you under

the ground in a troubled

niche. There’s no harm,

I’m certain, mangling

a cloud, and I know I just

know I will see you again.