Husband

Some grotesque imagery, religious trauma, class critique, parental neglect

The Marlboro cigarette smolders into carpenter husband,
after my red-headed stepchildren slump in their bootless hush.

Tom-and-Jerry reruns pollute the stale air,
ramen packets heave their dollar-fifty intestines.

Bud Light baptizes its own coolers.
Cashier Wife.

When the clocktower strikes six — jagged as a mallet,
Walmart carts pirouette to their concrete gallows,
laundry molders in mildew’s purgatory.

Meager child support checks,
centuries of unpaid mothering
banked into faithless morality.

Daisy Duke cousins soothe you with cultish chatter,
adorning a Facebook shrine to your archetype.

I shoulder the immortal boulder, unhandshook.
I climb the ladder, bone-stretched to God.

The singleness of Mother —
nailed to Eden’s crucifix.