Unopened
for Duane
I
went to a party once
where
a guy taught me
how
to hold fire
in
my palms
and
he treated me like
the
coolest guy on earth
and
after that night
he
would send me messages
asking
for me to hang out
at
cook outs and football games
and
I could never find the time
truth
be told I wasn't looking for new friends
truth
be told I'm not very kind.
So,
I always had an excuse
and
then eventually I didn't open the messages at all
and
then he died
surprising
everyone
and
so I have a constant notification
for
an unopened invite
from
a man
who
taught me
how
to hold fire
in
my palms
and
just wanted to be my friend.
County Roads
thick
smoke rolls from
a
loud orange wagon’s windows
as
a sap chauffeurs a fiend
pressing
young girls too far
through
tall rows of corn
angry
sheriffs watch
as
a punk kid pours til
fields
are mudded
to
keep his beer
from
wetting their lips
stumbling
blind drunk
his
tractor hauls us back to the ditch
and
tows out her car
so
I can save face
at
least I change the tire
Ed’s Fire
backwards
backwoods Ed
spraying
fuel on the bonfires
instead
of talking to girls
or
boys or whatever
never
trying to get his wic wet
just
standing there staring
flames
mirrored on his thick cut glasses
balanced
on a face
carved
from a log of bologna
giving
the fire looks
the
way a burning man
might
lust after a swimming pool
Jonathan S Baker lives and works in Evansville, Indiana. They are
the author of Cock of the Walk (Laughing Ronin Press, 2022), and co-author of
Contemplating the End of Insomnia While Inside the Post Modern Mausoleum (EMP
Books, 2022). They are also the co-editor at The Grind Stone, and the
editor at Pure Sleeze Press.
Very impressive and moving stuff, Mr. Baker!
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