JANE (1987)

I’m in first class, so I pay her no attention until she changes
her tone. She ran off with a man who wasn’t her own? Betting
double or nothing—she was a whale of a player who dazzled
the birds every summer and fall. Vegas is where her husband
once lived with Rock whom he met shortly after and soon
began to spend the night with him secretly huffing. She’d come
home early one afternoon and found them post-coitus, spoon to spoon.

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by Ruben Quesada

Ruben Quesada is the editor of a hybrid collection, Latinx Poetics: Essays on the Art of Poetry. He is the author of Revelations and Next Extinct Mammal: Poems. His writing appears in The New York Times, Best American Poetry, American Poetry Review, Kirkus Review, and Harvard Review. He has served as an editor for AGNI, PANK, The Rumpus, and Pleiades and as a poetry blogger for The Kenyon Review and Ploughshares. He teaches in the MFA Program in Creative Writing at Antioch University-Los Angeles and for the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program.