edward anki – 3 poems

Blood Clinic

It's a good January morning,
sullen,
impenetrable grey everything,
a small puddle on the waiting room
floor from my wet boots, 
what a puddle this is,
stark, unadorned,
a puddle indifferent to the fate
of a Mrs. Henderson who
(summoned by a lab technician)
rises from her seat
Mrs. Henderson
(mid-sixties?)
has risen from her seat
Mrs. Henderson flees
my
scene. 


Windows

At the old prison
in St. Augustine Florida
there’s a cell which back
in the day was reserved for inmates 
sentenced to be executed
this cell – our guide explains to us –
faces the gallows 
this was done intentionally
this allowed the condemned 
prisoner to use his remaining time
to gaze upon the contraption 
which would seal his doom.

Our guide –
a jolly young fellow
who brings to my mind Wonder Bread –
gestures towards the barred window. 


Hands Off

The evening prior to my appointment
I conducted a Google search –
the reviews,
less than stellar.

“. . . rude . . . dismissive . . . abrupt . . . ruined my life . . .”

The neurologist didn’t let me down.
Hardly a friendly fellow.

“When did the pain begin?”

“About a year and a half ago.”
I told him.

“Where’s the pain?”

I got up,
showed him.

“Walk across the room on your toes,”
he commanded.

I obeyed.

“Now walk on your heels.”

I walked on my heels
glancing one more time
at the framed sign
beautifying his desk:

No Handshakes.


EDWARD ANKI'S poetry has appeared in JAKE, BOMBFIRE, Rejection Letters, Roi Fainéant Press, The Feathertale Review, Qwerty, The Chaffin Journal, and others. A chapbook of his poetry, Remote Life, was published by BareBackPress (2014). His first full-length poetry collection, Screw Factory, was released in 2022 by Anxiety Press New From Anxiety Press: Screw Factory (athinsliceofanxiety.com). A former stand-up comic, bartender, and agonized telemarketer, Edward is currently engaged in part-time studies to become a psychotherapist.

Twitter: @EAnki2
Instagram: eddieanki


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