mouth greasy from chicken finger oil I finally tell you
I love you the bowling alley piss-like or flower
petals words thrown down slick lane
quick spin make thunder in falling
pins in front of us no matter
strike or split or spare or miss
(originally published in The Magnolia Review, Fall 2017)
In memory of Chris Hull
friends don’t
wait for rainy days
to die
there is never
a metaphor
in the weather
the sun laughs
as it always does
when I receive the call
I find the nearest tree
to brace myself
with shade
it’s the only darkness
seventy-six degrees
warm breeze
the car
approaching the hospital
still takes her living
to work
at being alive
(originally published in Muddy River Poetry Review, Spring 2017)