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  John Sierpinski
John Sierpinski
John Sierpinski grew up on the near south side of Milwaukee. Later he lived in San Francisco, Santa Monica and Venice, California. Currently, he's driving truck, listening to public radio, and thinking about poetry. John has studied writing at UW-Milwaukee and Marquette University, and poetry at the Iowa Writers Workshop and at the Vest Conservatory for Writers. He has been published in literary magazines from California Quarterly to North Coast Review.


John Sierpinski
After the dance,
after the breakfast
(you only drank diet coke)
after Rick Kramer left
(but not before he made
a pass at you) we stand
in the parking lot. Rain.
You wear a white dress

with black polka dots,
and your black hair.
Each of us holds an
umbrella. You are
the manager of a bank
whose right hand is
attached to money. I
live in a truck, and think

in abstractions. An hour
ago, when we danced you
said, "He's a compulsive
liar. I might tell you
more, sometime." I touch
the string of your lower
vertabrae. You are unknown.
Cold, rain. Water ribbons.

Your hair brushes
my face. Your dark
eyeliner has streaked. You
tense before you pull
away. Then a car jerks
toward us. We have to
move back. Headlights
splash our separate paths.

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