that first summer after my father died

some good goddamn times with her, he says,
some truckstop waitress,
some sixteen-year-old mother of two and he has
pictures in his wallet, says check out those tits, says
this one’s her sister, says i had to get out
in the end

told me she was pregnant again,
but no way was it mine

says and then i moved up north, was
living with some junkie and her old man, and i
woke up in bed one morning, the three of us with
her in the middle and it took me a while to realize she
wasn’t breathing anymore,
and he laughs

says i never checked on him, he was
an asshole anyway, and i didn’t have much to my name
so i just got dressed and took what i could find

hitched my way back to my brother’s place,
and he bums a cigarette

bums a beer

asks you still doing that
faggot poetry thing?

says shit, i’ve got a million
other stories you could use

says make me famous if
you’re any fucking good