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,

from the top porch step
all split and splintered
by the passage of moons
and the unforgiving
winters, rains and winds
and the grind
of steel-toed boots

(up and down, up and down)

hot steaming piss
launches into the dark
in the face of a breeze
a graceful arc of relief
with a sigh and a shiver
of bladder and spine

slowly melting

(away)

lightning flashes
through fingers of oak
from cloud to cloud
its tendrils unfolding
to encompass the sky
in retreat
after crashing
a damn good party

(they ran for their cars)

(the pussies)

thunder grumbles
way off in the distance
a grumpy old man
without love, just jealous
of those who would
take a chance
in the back of an old Renault

(le Car)

the screen door slams,
my zipper’s zipped tight
as i knock over empties
on my way to find
the can of cheap beer
and the glass of hootch
that’ll make life right

(but not quite)

i peek. past. the bedroom door.
i see her laying there
curled up in herself
a fetal pose
worn out from my bullshit
and i’m afraid
to open my daughter’s

(originally published June 11, 2012, on allpoetry.com)

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