3 Poems by Jon Bennett

Jon Bennett, Music, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

Where It Goes

I moved into a spare room

in a lady’s house in El Segundo

She had one of those music zines

I don’t remember the name

and she had stacks of CDs

that people sent her,

fat manila envelopes

mostly unopened

heaped in a broom closet.

She had a cat named ‘Vodka’

which was malnourished

and incontinent

and when it pissed on the carpet

she’d lock it in the broom closet

for days on end.

I loved that cat

even though it pissed

all over the music

I and 100s of others

had sent there.

Heave To

(for Elliott Smith)

Rudder lashed to sail

he knew he’d sink

if it got too rough

my man

with the guitar

He was all clean by then

just Him, Himself, and He

the luffing sails

tied to his own mast

and the storm was his storm

and the thunder his thunder

but the lightning

still burned

and in the end

he tore

himself to shreds.

Check Out Time


Innocuous enough

pack of smokes

but he only smoked

when he drank, so

he got a bottle

And he only did heroin

when the bottle let him down

which it always did.

The best motels sounded like

funeral parlors

Shady Acres, Serenity Pines

the problem was

check out time,

passing out at 8am

and needing to vacate by 11

so he’d get the room

for two nights

or even 3

if things

were looking

real good.

jon bennett