The Maynard
Fall 2017

Jennifer van Alstyne


Sometimes I fill with guilt, heavy stomach
             —hiding in this bar where smoke riddled chatter
             keeps him from entering.
Gould’s love is too much, bittersweet
             —love which overwhelms like hoppy beer,
             a form of IPA kinship.
When Glenn asked me to be his brother, legally,
             my heart froze to whisper,
             I already have brothers.
                                             But let us be friends.