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Peter Ramos

Smoke on the Water

Days my Flying-V blared through a stolen Fender Twin: motherfuck you and all the neighbors.  At night I drew the shades, turned on the blacklight and burned the purple candle.  I lurked in the roller rinks and grew out my hair.  Rolled joints with your daughter in the fancy living-room while you and the old lady snored.  I took her rumbling out of your neighborhood in my jacked-up GTO.  Parked by a dumpster.  Drank Thunderbird, backseated.  We balled until morning wiped out the stars & pigeons cried like brats.  Pulled into the Citgo to clean and fill with racing fuel, a tank to burn.  We broke our teeth in the windshield.


Peter Ramos has poems in Indiana Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Verse, The Chattahoochee Review, and Poet Lore.  He is the author of one book of poetry, Please Do Not Feed the Ghost (BlazeVox Books, 2008), and two chapbooks: Watching Late-Night Hitchcock & Other Poems (handwritten press 2004), and Short Waves (White Eagle Coffee Store Press 2003).

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