Cigarettes
She
raps that clean
plastic smack
of box against
her palm: an
empty threat
to whoop our
bare bottoms.
She
flips one upside
down in her fresh
box, for luck. Tucks
the next behind her
ear like daddy did.
She
purses chapped lips
‘round bleached paper
tubes with mulch
pressed filters, packed
with crushed tobacco.
She
at least tries to shoot
her noxious exhales
out the slit of the car
window—responsible
self-destruction
Oil
& Water
Iridescent oil pools
squirm like rivers
bleed into fissures
of concrete cracks
rubber rain boots
tramp through
puddles, painting boots
slick, black, synthetic
Sweet.
A violent rainbow
thrashes & flashes
in bulky boot-prints
stamped into pristine
white carpet.
Daddy’s
Humor
Daddy came home
today with a present for
me. His hand slid into
jean pocket, searching
for my gift—
he pulled out his empty
hand, middle finger
raised, and a sleezy
chuckle on his face. It was
his humor, his love. And
I cherished it.
But what do I
know about my
father’s way of
love? You’re
the expert, right?
Bio - Cody Schweickert is a retired college student who enjoys Rugby and 'Star Wars' marathons. He has had poetry published at Canto, Verbum, The Cardinal Virtue, Three Line Poetry, and more.
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