Watching Over the Tribe

by Ryan Hardgrove

Crawling into the small hours
of morn
my son strapped
alongside
doused in sweet baby piss
dried Elmer’s glue vomit-paste
lacquered into the zipper track
on his onesie

Riding the coat tails
of my 7 month old
and his screaming purity
deep into the night
he validates
foolish nights spent floating
near the void

Or so my selfish
Ego whispers to
My helpless conscience

cigarettes on the porch
smoked blind
street lights pulse
behind blood violet eyelids
warm quiet explosions
between the ears
while
my slumped sag of a posture
warns passer-by’s
not to waste time
on gestures
or notions

back inside
my son purrs
warm golden snores
while blue nightlights
shimmer in the outlets
glowing little fireflies
in cold old January

8 years old

by Ryan Hardgrove

we were trying
to get this old lighter to work
so we could light
another one of those
tank-shaped fire crackers

his dad was inside
smoking a cigarette on the couch
lounging in the
ceiling-fanned summer gloom

he heard our struggle
with the old lighter
and called us in

he grabbed his son
and said
     don’t you be puffin’ on this
then to me
     you neither, I’ll tell your old man

he took a long drag
on his Winston
and held it out to his son
he took it
and back out we went to the porch

he bent down with the cigarette
it looked awkward and big in his fingers
the fuse caught

a bright spark
flew out of the barrel and bounced off
a half-used paint can

his father lit a cigarette
somewhere inside

Too Many Letters

by Ryan Hardgrove

When I get up to piss
and brush my teeth
like she told me to, hours and pages ago
my reading light
                which my body was shielding her from
spills onto her sleeping face
and the sadness of her beauty
rips down into me

she only wanted me

still wants me

and now there is another
growing
growing
growing
somewhere inside, beneath all of that beauty

somewhere I cannot see
though it rests shallow
not deep
like the soul or the heart

for now it’s just flesh
but soon it will be more
more and more and more

it will grow
beyond any understanding
I now have
standing barefoot
in the bathroom
at 3:30 am
dribbling piss onto the toilet seat

and she wants me
and I want her
and us

so why am I awake
in the small hours of morn
trying to spell love
with too many letters?

Friday Night Blues

by Ryan Hardgrove

just north of town
along the Ohio river
my little apartment
rattles in its foundation
as another plane skates
far too low

I’m full and bloated
on 8 dollar pizza
and can’t seem to scrape
enough black sticky residue
out of my old glass pipe
I could call someone
for a real score
but I’m fresh out of cash
      I’ve even exhausted all the nickels and dimes
      the quarters have been gone for days
and the pennies are far too tragic
for spending

the ball of tar is getting close
to something substantial
almost smoke-able
maybe I will get high tonight

another plane blasts
through the window
like a god damn freight train
and irritates my diligent fingers
working ceaselessly
at the meticulous task at hand
one day all those planes
will drop out of the sky
like locust shells

and then maybe
I’ll be able to figure out
what’s really wrong with me

Just Nickels

by Ryan Hardgrove

Wake up early
watch her dress before work
without glasses
a fog of flesh and fabric
go down stairs
after she leaves
feel for the bathroom switch
her fragrance lingers
hesitates
wants to stay
with me
within the home

Stare at the toilet
the porcelain
marshmallow yellowed
browned in the bowl
flush
soap
water
smile
don’t smile
yeah, don’t smile
you look better that way
you look real

Want to get some things done today
get gas
apple juice
cigarettes
coffee
find a roach amongst
the pebbles strewn
across thin upholstery
beneath my feet
            feel for a lighter
            between the seat
            and the door
only sticky nickels
no lighter
no dimes
no quarters
just nickels