The 2River View | 22.3 (Spring 2018) |
Justin Hyde we'd cut the top off a pop-can one of us would steal a little gasoline out on the west edge of the trailer park we'd drop one of our silent full swirling the acrid burning fumes squatting there women came simple truth disappeared & we turned inscrutable like our fathers. sitting teacher i am focused the nail the others hit & run by the pell-mell she points i stare norman rockwell but caravaggio she leans back crossing her left leg my throat throbs it reaches i shit you Justin Hyde lives in Iowa where he works as a parole officer. His work is published or forthcoming in The Alaska Quarterly Review and The Iowa Review.
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