4-F
Blind in your lazy eye
and carrying around diamonds
of glass in your hip
from that time the car
you and some dead beer buddies
were riding in
was hit by a train and you went flying
from the backseat through
the windshield
landing in a field of corn stubble
across the tracks
ending your education proper
upon impact,
but you’d always been crazier
than dumb, anyway.
“Go fuck yourself, America wasn’t my idea,”
your deaf uncle didn’t hear you say
when he tried inviting you
to his war. He only smiled, nodded.
So you told him louder.
A Half-Heard Sonnet
The latest stranger
to ride into town
and a well-known local
soon to be shamed
into leaving for good
are comparing fates
down at the end of the bar.
I keep waiting for them to say
something the least bit unfamiliar.
Most of the night
like a ghost of the night
I’ve eavesdropped from this dark corner table.
These wild men sound tame to me.
Make yourself at home.
