Country Music
an online journal of poetry
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Patrick Culliton

from My Book Report on the Afterlife

My old man slides the creeper
under the Celebrity until
he’s back on Euclid Beach with cigarettes,
don’t cross me boots popped
out like thermometers.
It’s best to service your own bike
when he’s playing good witch.
Touch the dial if you’re the stupidest kid
I know. Cud your gray steak,
peckerhead. He ain’t fixing shit.
Now fetch a couple cans of high school.
Get your lips on. Show him how
you swig and kill ants with a wrench.