June 11, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

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Alejandro Escudé







He will pardon himself


and the pardoning will infinitely


continue, the pools that are his eyes


will mix with other pools,


the entire thingee pardoning itself


before and after the act


or acts—we watched it unfold,


an event in past tense; no one


corrected it for actually taking place


in the present. No grammar Gestapo


burst in driving their beetle-black cars


to arrest the event for wrong tense.


It just happens, though we said


it had happened. Do two wrongs


make a right? You’ll have to ask


him. He should know, or should’ve,


depending on your perspective


or your state of residence.


I remember my boss once


shutting the door that lead


into the Christmas office party


in my face, pushing out before


pulling in, nearly breaking my nose,


because I was late; I snuck in


after the choir he’d invited sang


their last carol. A coworker,


who was an unbeliever, let me in


through another door. My boss


never spoke of it. My nose felt the blow


that never was, or is, again depending


on whether you think a company


or a country should be founded


on laws or traditions. My boss loved


the tradition of the Christmas office party


so much, he insisted we be there on time


and I looked everywhere, we looked


everywhere, but there was no crime.


He’d simply closed a door.


It could’ve been coincidence, though


I’d seen his eye rotate like a gecko’s eye


before spotting me


through the crack in the door.






Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé’s first book of poems, My Earthbound Eye, was published in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.

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