Poems by Ted Mico

December 15, 2023

Hell: The Sequel

The marriage diorama glued
with matchsticks—a replica
of our house complete with kitchen
cross-draft and wrangles built to scale.

At breakfast, more matches
bent to bananas, ripe as wood
can be. What remains smells bigger
with tiny windows open.

Inside, we see knife fights,
rashly-squeezed toothpaste,
a stepladder for hanging
miniature highs.

What remains is missing:
this model home, empty as your hands
that once used ladders
to rise in me like a fever.

What remains is beating
stubborn dents in the pillow
that used to hold our heads
before we lost them.

The Backspace Man’s Not Dead, He’s Typing Quietly

Left to his own devices the Backspace Man is always on
	but has no new messages. He can’t hold back
		the unsubscribes, can’t stop his solitude uploading
			when the wrong key’s depressed.

His wifi’s gone dead between divorces—
	a tragic end predicted by search histories.
		The Backspace Man will stream his finale surrounded
			by unknowns with unsavory comments.

He is ready to be admired, to show his followers
	the analogue fruits, firm with animosity.
		Hashtags blaze, his madness unleashing
			more bandwidth for feverish scrolls.

A last spurt of exclamation marks
	the moment his livid skin goes viral, glistening
		like Zeus or a newly minted letter Z
			seconds before deletion.

About Ted Mico

Ted Mico began his writing career as features editor of the Melody Maker in London. His poetry has been featured in magazines such as Cordite Review, Slipstream, Sein Und Werden, Pure Slush, Okay Donkey, and Cesura. He has edited three books of non-fiction and is a regular attendee at the legendary Beyond Baroque poetry workshop in Venice, Los Angeles.