Country Music
an online journal of poetry
Home Issue 8 Contents Author Bios Archives Manifesto Submit

Maria Flaccavento

 

 

neighborhood


one time brian
picked up for us, it was straight up
baking soda. look i said, he said
i’m sorry, i don’ even
kno dis bull, and got my
money back
somehow.
he died last night.
they said his lungs
were like cement.
they filled up steph says
too much asthma, too much
crack and cigarettes, and palms
the hair around her temples
down, the tears dry.
i remember when i met steph.
she was pregnant, cruising the desert block
corners for loose change, calling
his name out — brian — brian — i’m tryna find
my brother she said.
do you have
a quarter
can I use
yr phone.


Next>