Boulder

By Brice Maiurro

 

Boulder’s not racist.
Boulder has a black friend.

Boulder has skyscrapers,
you just can’t see them.

They’re well-hidden,
the fifty story high rises that people
put Merrels on to climb
to the top of
just to look down on you.

Boulder is a Ben and Jerry’s
ice cream shop but if you order the wrong flavor
you will be scolded
and asked to leave.

Boulder is having tofu tikki masala
at an authentic Indian restaurant for dinner
but Boulder is sneaking through the KFC drive through
at one in the morning.

Boulder is running faster than you.

Boulder is slapping mandalas on Starbucks cups
hiding the siren and the shipwreck.

Boulder goes to poetry shows to hear itself
read to itself.

Boulder is clapping for the wrong reasons.

Boulder used its witchy manifestations
to conjure up a statute against rent control
in the eighties.

Boulder meditates in downward dog
passed out in the sundown saloon
covered in its own piss.

Boulder went to a silent retreat
and wants to talk to you about how life-changing it was.

Boulder is creating new digital technological arms
to pat itself on the back with.

Pearl Street loves us all
like a giant happy Buddha that is allergic
to cigarettes and homeless people.

Boulder doesn’t have a homelessness problem,
it solved that with Longmont.

Boulder doesn’t have any crime.
Just an occasional slipup to be addressed with a consultation
documented by your manager
addressing how terrible your golf swing has gotten.

Boulder is getting a tarot reading from Charles Schwab.

Boulder has lots of marginalized people
pinned to the walls of its galleries.

Boulder presents Bohemian University
where for thirty k a year you can smoke cigarettes
and snap to confusing poems.

Boulder doesn’t do cars – they kill the earth
and Boulder needs a ride to Denver.

Boulder’s back alleys are very clean
and sponsored by local frat houses.

Boulder’s back alleys smell like Bruce Banner
and pepper spray.

Boulder’s back alleys sound like daddy slapping you
on the hand in a courtroom.

Boulder’s back alleys taste like kombucha.

The kombucha comes in growlers.
It tastes like India Pale Ales and entitlement.

Boulder is getting a healing session for its hangover.

The hangover will not go away.

Boulder is a hangover from a ten dollar pint of dream.

Gluten-free violence.

Cage free rape culture.

Farm to table ignorance.

Boulder is taking pictures with the Dalai Lama.

Boulder doesn’t shower because Boulder doesn’t
have to go to work.

Boulder, you have to go to work.

And the toxins are running down the 36 into Denver
and Denver is too late and I am Denver and I am Boulder
and I drove up the 36 to hear myself read to myself
.

 

 

 



Brice Maiurro is a poet. For several years now, he has been an active member of the Denver and Boulder literary community as a writer, performer, organizer, publisher, editor and activist. His poetry has been featured by The Denver Post, Birdy Magazine and is forthcoming to Stain’d Magazine online. His first collection of poetry, Stupid Flowers, was released in 2017. He likes to drink the CBD kombucha at Mutiny Information Cafe. He has a growing collection of Hawaiian shirts.

 

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