The Adirondack Review
Not True

If you find, centuries from now
some video fossil of me fallen on my knees,
kissing the President's ring
it's false.

If you find me in a sidecar
of a motorcycle, crashed in a race,
it's false.
If you find me asking for free-range chicken,
on the corner begging for change,
or  holding a bride's wedding train
If you find my skin tattooed with a curse word,
my nose pierced by a car key,
it's false.

You want to know the truth?  I can't tell you
except those relics you study are false.
I can tell you details, such as the question
I asked every day,
What's the point of being grown up?
Did you have children, or did you
have children on purpose?
Do you have an extra piece of gum?

Cornered,
I sold my possessions
blew the proceeds on ice cream and oatmeal,
signed an organ donor card,
took umbrage at your predilections,
and challenged you, the whole world, to a duel.

J. Alan Nelson







The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poemsThe St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poemsThe St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
Lawyer and writer J. ALAN NELSON'S  poems are forthcoming or have recently appeared in South Carolina Review, Wisconsin Review, Red River Review, Illya’s Honey, Red Cedar Review and Fulcrum.  He lives in Texas and is obsessed with footnotes, how things fly apart and shapes of reality.