my brothers were a lighthouse for the inner banks
they sighed a quarter mile at a time
we wrapped our truck around the chicken restaurant
my home was a bruise punched into new boots
i rode saddle soap down the bathtub walls
family was a scaffolding with no insurance
G asked why can’t i live there
he took his arms off with a side of ranch
my neck was getting long
our waists went out for a swim
the devil started to bother me at the post office
every road sign had rotten teeth
T chanted pantego pungo matcha fungo
i knew why my stepdad sent the flood
monday smelled like a hungry god
smiling faces were a primitive memory
i wanted everywhere to hide
time turned out the lights
my tears were blue ridge mountain peaks
i wanted to deep fry my brain for good
my mother told a story about feeling wild
a stain gathered near the graveyard trash
our tire tracks were made of wasps
the dead had a dream about human magnetism
a great snake built a concrete bruise
someone said beware of dogs
forgiveness was a mouth that called me daddy
every pocket knife was heart-shaped
i had lunch with a can of sardines
i got old and everything fell off
—
Graham Irvin is from Kannapolis, North Carolina. Same as Dale Earnhardt and Dale Earnhardt, Jr. His chapbook The Woods are now a Traffic Jam and my Family is Deleting Itself was published by Really Serious Literature in January. His poetry has appeared in The Nervous Breakdown, Instant Lit Magazine, Show Your Skin, Tenderness Lit, and Vagabond City. His prose has appeared or is forthcoming in Apathy Press, and Philosophical Idiot. Follow him on Twitter (@grahamjirvin).
