ode to a fish headed fool poem by Wayne Jackson


ode to a fish headed fool

seventeen and shaving you stood before the faded mirror that only
showed parts of through its dim interior
shaving with a hunting knife, it sounded like
you were dragging the blade up the ragged muscles of your spine

your young voice drags to me over the years. “Jackson” you said,
“I done had every daughter the man got. His wife keeps gettin’
me aside to come over when he’s not home.”

***


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