Treehouse

Joe DeLuca

I see the brainstorm coming a mile away
and take cover under the desk
Later that day, the CCO sends me to Zurich
I fly Swiss
The chocolate is great
But the bathroom sex is mediocre
I wrap myself in toilet paper and call it “mummy fuck in the sky”
She is not impressed
But we pitch the hell out of the thing anyway

We throw confetti at everyone

At the Radisson Blu, time slows down
Over my head, I see the poet James Wright dancing in a soaring glass tower of wine bottles
They lower him on a cord
He hands me a ’92 Grüner Veltliner
A sparkle blazes up in his smile
You know how I feel about this, he lips as they crank him back to the top of the tower
for a night of seductive dancing and exclusive wine pairings for members only
I lean back and let the night overtake me
I am wasted
I have kind-of-sort-of wasted my life

Joe DeLuca lives in Brooklyn, New York, and works in advertising. His poems can be found in another tree house, somewhere in the backwoods of North Guilford, Connecticut, where he was raised.

Also check out Joe’s poem Dropped Call and his list of 5 Things You Should Read.

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