Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Nate Maye- Three Poems


I hear your trump
outside in the hall
I listen to the thump
far out there, calling
to me like the dinner
bell, and I will come
running against my will.


I sit in my car waiting
and watch the grasses
thinking how many people
have died here
or have there been any
at all,
has this small space
been spared?


You can tell she's a bad
mix for him
a bad chipped tooth

a sharp grip
she's bruising his eye
each time she talks.

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