Tuesday poem #311 : Evan Gray : from WRETCH POETICS

beneath fence wire

some investigators. some broken

.22 magnum scope some

murder weapon. some

pieces found inside the victim’s

door. some local hardware

store that sold it to him.

[VICTIM], 25; Christmas-tree farm

on Jan. 24, 2008 & killed

[VICTIM], 73;

his son, [VICTIM], 44;

& a farm employee.

mr. firewood salesmen

shot all three. how deadly could you be

I would leave my kids

with you. I trust your

eyes. your frail hair is 12 lb.

test & you are old

your age is a blacksnake

& I thought I knew

you. so

how could you on the bridge

the bridge I go fishing

near. fuck you for killing

those boys. you bastard. I think

of you all the time. not

because of your duty & plea

barging but because of this

bridge. my bridge & those boys.

how selfish of you to do this

to me. how selfish of me

to think you ruined

my place. my river. the head

of two others. the firearms

used in the crimes missing

disposed of. I wish

that man would’ve just

killed himself or drowned

+++

just a mile

down

a thorn bush

behind hog pins

strung in

the starkness of new

telephone wire

the holler

a blister

might as well be

my flannel shirt

coated in briars

the beehives again

a half-dollar

Dad gave me

buy gas

take a mouthful of snuff

hide in the house

J comes over drunk

pick

scabs on

the porch

light

find something

to hold

on to in the perch

window

stains

you leave

the doors locked

you remember

the mountains

ridges

BBQ chip bags

that night on the bridge

the mountain

the car

almost drove off

origins

like a shoebox

hand-me-down

sweaters

a murky

pond

hayfields

hissing

in wind

cattails

tall people

the cold

alter

now fenced-in

field my self-

portrait

backdrops

blackberries

along

the parkway

rough

work

words

taxidermy

plastered

deer hide

mason jars

filled with

kerosene

postcards

furnaces

black smoke

the road

silver

pine

riddles

fast food joints

maybe

a blacksnake

six goats

four hens

diabetes toes

in unison

dancing

seven nails

my cerebral cortex

his liver

failures

tractor bucket

here is

a sacrifice

now God

a stuck hog

or lamb or

another

blacksnake

keep

ours

yours truly

the mice

out of the barn

most of all

bottom

feeders

bent glass

shards flat

picking

breaks

a melody

a birth

a cesspool

new

eyes

here

rain

clouded

ecosystems

white

chalky

connections

or dust

my dashboard

readiness

certain

eyes

call

things

specific

before

the corn

comes

Evan Gray is from Jefferson, North Carolina and is the author of the chapbooks Blindspot (the Rest (Garden-Door Press, 2018), BODY BIRTH (above/ground press, 2019) and Dusk Melody (Shirt Pocket Press, 2019). His essays and poems have been featured in DIAGRAM, Tarpaulin Sky, Yalobusha Review, Word For / Word, and others. He currently lives and teaches in Pittsburgh, PA.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan