Quail Bell

One of my poems, "Name", has just been published in the newest edition of Quail Bell magazine. You can view it here:
http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal/poem-name-by-rj-zeman

Tuesday Nights

I sit
in the backyard,
drinking
a bottle
of Popov vodka.
I light
a cigarette
and think
about her.
I wonder
if she's out
at a new bar,
with a new
boyfriend,
drinking pitchers
of cheap beer.
I pour
another drink.
My mind gets
good
and numb.
I light
a Pall Mall
and lean back.
I sit there
until
the sun
comes up;
then I watch
the people
go off
to work.
I climb
into bed,
still drunk,
her face
dancing in front
of me
like some
insane ghost.
I fall asleep,
alone.

Pif Magazine

One of my poems, "Phone Call", was published in the latest edition of Pif Magazine. You can view it here: http://www.pifmagazine.com/2018/02/phone-call/

Hexed

Your father
had it;
your grandfather
had it;
his father
did, too:
drinking cold beer
out at
the bar
until 3 a.m.
You wake up
with a hangover
and wonder
how you
got home.
Mark E. Smith
had it,
so did
Bukowski.
And the alcohol
flows and flows
into
your stomach
and your mind
races
like a locomotive
heading down
the track.
You order
another beer
and begin to talk
to a
beautiful woman.
Nothing
comes out of
your mouth
but mumbled
gibberish.
You go home,
sleep it off
and wake up
with a dull pain
in your head.
You reach
for a cigarette.
You try to
comprehend
how this all
even began,
but you'll do it
again tonight,
and again
the night after that,
into infinity,
forever and ever,
amen.

Scarlet Leaf Review

Three of my poems ("The Back", "The Fellowship" and "Art") are in this month's edition of Scarlet Leaf Review. Scroll down the page to see me:
https://www.scarletleafreview.com/poems15

Oddball Magazine

My poem, "Vacant Seats", was published in Oddball Magazine this month. You can view it here: https://oddballmagazine.com/2018/01/03/poem-by-r-j-zeman/

A Warm Hug From God

She was
twenty-one,
a stripper
and a single mom.
She was pretty:
blonde hair
and
enormous
green eyes.
I watched her
shoot up
one day
on the floor.
She cooked up
a pill
in a dirty spoon,
and then
injected it
into her arm.
Her eyes
glazed over;
I asked her
what it felt like.
She told me
it was like getting
a warm hug
from God.
She mumbled
something else,
then
nodded out.
She passed out
softly,
slowly
against a dresser.
I walked outside
to smoke,
leaving her
with her
Higher Power.