by Mark Olival-Bartley
My mask is misted; feet, aswim in sweat—
it's thirty-seven centigrade within
this thickly gilded condom of a suit
whose pissy, jaundiced hue engenders fret
among those safe outside and peering in
who gasp at vomit born of spoiled fruit.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.
- Mark Olival-Bartley
- Mark Olival-Bartley studied applied linguistics at Hawaii Pacific University, attaining B.A. and M.A. degrees in TESOL, and poetry at the City College of New York. He is now writing a dissertation on the sonnets of E. A. Robinson at LMU München, where he tutors composition and edits weekly flyers on poetry and style. His poems and translations have appeared in journals on both sides of the Atlantic. He is the resident poet at EcoHealth, where his science-themed verse is regularly featured, and a senior copyeditor of Review of International American Studies. He also teaches at Münchner Volkshochschule and runs the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.