Off Beat
Albert Thomas

And when I jump through
the window, broken like
balance, you’ll think I was
dissatisfied with conditioned
air. He never learned to be cool,
 
you’ll think, or draw water from
heat, or unravel his bones. Why
compare me to a cucumber? I
can measure everything by the
 
dirt beneath my fingernails (twelve
grams tufted, each scratch a snare
drum), and I’ve never found merit
in feet unswung. After all, we live
 
lives in lists, each line a ladder. To
count the steps would be to count
each question dead against our soles,
 
or fight off our feet,
or puff privilege in plumes,
or never dance.
 

 

About the Author:  Albert Thomas is a poet living San Francisco, CA. He is an alum of Yale University, where he studied Political Science and African-American literature and poetry. Albert’s poems have appeared in Podium, and Radius Lit. He recently received a nomination for the 2016 Pushcart Prize. 
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