Going Home for Christmas
I am back in high school.
I am in someones mothers minivan,
smoking weed out of a tinfoil pipe.
Around here, everything is named
after what it wiped out. Cornfield Road.
Indian Plaza. The Fox Run Mall. The trucks
have back-window Confederate flags,
jokes about farm equipment:
a decal of a Caterpillar
over I look good on a ho.
New Years Day I woke up cold feet,
Jason trying to fix the door,
keep the winter out.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 38 | Fall 2012