DEVIL AT THE MOVIES
When he steps into the theater
it doesn’t matter that it burned
down in nineteen sixty-three
and no one ever tried to rebuild it,
the fallen blackened wooden
frame gathers up around him
and the carpeting runs back
red. Even the hum and burn
of three popcorn machines,
the awful lobby music tinned in
by speakers hanging from exposed
wire, and body upon smoking
body streaming into still black
rooms shafted through with light.
CHARLIE CLARK’s poetry has appeared in Best New Poets 2011, The Journal, The Laurel Review, Smartish Pace, West Branch, and other journals.