right after my parents were married

by Justin Hyde

they lived in blairstown
with mom's parents.
mom got on
as a second shift rn
in cedar rapids
and dad took up
with a cement crew
out of van horne.

every night around seven
grandpa would get a call
from opie
down at the tavern.

dad was getting surly-drunk

starting fights.

grandpa and grandma
would drive to the square

grandma would drive on home
while grandpa stuffed dad
in the passenger seat
of dad’s camaro
and drove him home.

they'd repeat it
couple hours later.

they started hiding
dad's keys
but dad found
an old sears tandem
with pneumatic tires
out in the garage.

grandpa hauled it
to the landfill.

finally discovered
if they could get dad
into the basement
with a couple bottles
and his eight track player
he'd run course
peacefully.

tonight
thirty years later
i'm drinking tequila
in opies. opie
still tends bar.
looks to be
eighty years old.

grandpa is
dead

dad and i
don't speak.

i roll an empty shot glass
back and forth
in my palm
thinking about grandpa
trying to stuff my dad
in the camaro and
my old man
pumping that sears tandem
four miles
over gravel roads.

i'm not sure why

but it makes me
feel proud.

with all the ardor of an actuarial convention

by Justin Hyde

one fluid motion of the wrist
the older redhead
with a face like a dostoevsky novel
standing next to you at the bar
drops your fly - -
twist finger through the trap-door
she gives it a few thoughtful shakes
like she’s inspecting a zucchini.
nothing to write the pope about, she says,
but it’ll do.
chin glued to your chest
staring down at the bald headed tchaikovsky
as if you were seeing him for the first time - -
twice
then twice more
she snaps her fingers:

now the question is
do you know how to use it?

a poet

by Justin Hyde

is not
an actual human being.

he is a grotesque
anchored
at the periphery

only existing
to watch and analyze
actual human beings.

he knows this

carries it around inside him
like a graveyard
sitting at PD's pub
seven in the morning
with a handful of women
off third shift
from the firestone plant.

they're laughing like hyenas
telling a story
about the retarded janitor
who got down on one knee
in the break-room
and proposed to the hr manager
with a
hundred dollar ring from wal-mart.

he laughs along with them
but only because he knows
he should be laughing.

his body is amongst them
but his mind stands at a distance
cataloging it all.

their laughter is perfect

like blue velvets
like a bowl of cold cherries
or a symphony.

he envies
their laughter

their lives
in perfect motion
without thought.

.

after visitation at work release

by Justin Hyde

i had her wings clipped
but while i was down
she got em stretched out
like some
goddammed peacock
it's her coworkers
all in her ear
with that oprah
cotton candy bullshit
but daddy's home now
and i got
my shears.