3 poems by Andre F. Peltier : In Pregnant Sky, The Sixth Believer & South to Noblesville

South to Noblesville

We slept in alleyways waiting for dawn,
waiting for the record store
to open and sell us our
passport to the Midwest
summer circus.
I read Oscar Wilde as we bobbed to
“Box of Rain” and watched
the hackey-sack fly from
foot to foot
in that endless circle of freedom.
Strangers shook hands
and shared smoke in
rites of passage
and flights
of fancy.
Like wide-eyed innocents,
our enthusiasm was
tempered with
anxious dread:
Will the white be too much for him
this year? Will they play
It again? Are you
kind?
Questions for another lifetime as
the line formed and we
counted our cash.
As we handed
over our cash
and planned our drive through corn-fields,
soy-fields, potato-fields,
through Fort Wayne, Marion:
home of James Dean and Garfield,
Gas City, Muncie: for the Gipper,
with the winter’s chill
in the rear-view
mirror.

In Pregnant Sky

In pregnant sky replete with birds of prey;
They circle, circle round their target cold.
Foreboding jungle cats do pounce and slay
Upon unknowing sheep within the fold.
In blackest ocean depths with razor teeth
The shark is ever moving toward the kill.
On whitest arctic ice the bear unsheeth
Their deadly claws upon the seal so still.
But who among them stalks with bluest eye,
And who among them hides in bluest line?
Regardless of the weather, time, or clime
Aloof to all who raise their hands to die.
They harmonize with hate ‘neath moon or sun,
And prowl and prey with but a badge and gun.

The Sixth Believer

Jokerman, Monkey-man
Jack of Hearts & Jack of Tremors

I am the sixth believer
I am the sixth believer

Jack Frost nipping on
my eardrums.
the Zimmer-Man
leaning on my windowsill.

I am the sixth bather
I am the sixth tremor
I am the sixth believer

Jugglers and contortionists,
soused with spray
and ready to rumble.
The Sixth believer,
is soused with spray
and ready to rumble.

Who am I but one more believer?
Who am I but one more garbologistist?
Come to tell you all… tell you all?
Were these sixteenth notes
that were his eyes?
Faded and misheard,
the sixteenth notes flutter away
on the wind of the Jokerman.

Bio:

Andre F. Peltier (he/him) is a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he teaches African American Literature, Science Fiction, Afrofuturism, Poetry, and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti, MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in In Parentheses, The JFA Human Rights Journal, Griffel Magazine, Barzakh, The Madrigal Press, Fahmidan Journal, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, About Place, Novus, Open Work, The Write Launch, and the anthology Turning Dark into Light. Many of his poems are forthcoming in various journals. In his free time, he obsesses about soccer and comic books.
Twitter: @aandrefpeltier