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ISSUE:  Spring 2013

When I hear that boy sing, I said, every other
Boy becomes a disappointment. Tiny wince

Like the sound of a beetle underfoot. Sure it hurts
But it should hurt sometimes.
I think this is the part

Where the fiddle slips in beside me & tries for
The heart, a photo stuck in someone else’s book.

As it turns out, you can’t even take the girl out
Of the South. A good porch is hard to leave,

& that’s the truth. Gardenias & a hand-rolled smoke.
A fingerbone of moon tapping at the screen door. Who

You’re looking for depends on who wants to know. You know,
I have a cotton dress & a closed-mouth smile for any occasion.

You went for your keys. I went to pull what I thought
Was a tangle out of my hair, but found a tiny braid

I reckon you must’ve made while I was sleeping. Nice try.
You can’t kiss me & expect to leave a prayer like that behind.

Out here, some things are fixed with a hot shower, some
With a better lock on the door. When you see a girl propped

In her chair like a shotgun still warm, I think you know: that’s no
Riddle. Sun split open the morning like a ten-penny. Pair of yard dogs

Cased your truck—those two sure enough know what V-E-T spells,
You better believe it. Out here, where there’s tires, there’s dust.

When I hear that boy sing my skin tightens with sunburn & I start
Sleeping on top of the sheets, under a fan & beside no one. I use

The word sugar like a leash like I’m both the heat & the
Humidity & you’re just idling with the windows down.

Here we go again, I all but say. Tell me something I don’t know,
Says the truck, windshield smitten with insects.

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