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December 23, 2014 | Poetry

Two Poems

Brian Beatty

Two Poems photo

 

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.
 

image: Aaron Burch


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