Blue static crackles
as if this old roadhouse
was a prop in a David Lynch film
A sour man in his fifties
stoic as a housewife
in an unhappy marriage
stares into a bourbon on the rocks
With his half-gray stringy hair
stuffed beneath an NRA baseball cap,
he looks like the live-action demographic
for right-wing cable news
It’s not hard to imagine him
cradling a rifle on his front porch
like a penitentiary guard
Penn Belt & Buckle
being sold and shuttered
hits like the kick from a shotgun
That was the last of the factories
in this threadbare county
He tilts back the glass
until all that’s left is ice
and rails about the “deep state”
like a blister about to burst
Sentimental movies
come to life
when the whiskey
works its corrosion
Michael N. Thompson likes bacon, cats and fantasy football. His poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals including Word Riot, Toronto Quarterly and San Pedro River Review. He is the author of four poetry collections, the most recent being A Murder Of Crows published by University of Hell Press.
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