hiking in the reservoir

when i was sixteen i was arrested
for throwing paving stones at the chained door
of the public pool
it was 2 am and i wanted to swim
just like

i wanted to climb through
the busted window of the mausoleum
musty with overgrowth and shadowed
in hydrangea the family stacked
on either side of the unswept foyer the moss
too undisturbed to be final
just like

i scaled the watershed
on the service road with boltcutters
in my backpack
snipping at an obscured stretch
of chainlink and curling up
and sliding under
the gods live there because people
aren’t allowed
just like

i think i am owed secrets
as though i’m one of a few
earned caretakers or a suzerain
fate has granted
all sorts of trespasses
but maybe it’s just like
what my ex wife said before
i packed the boxes
i am only fascinated by what
won’t let me in

Photo by Ron McClenny on Unsplash

Steve Barichko

Steve Barichko is from Torrington, CT. His work has most recently appeared in Gastropoda Lit. He is a 2020 Pushcart Prize nominee.