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Alcohol

Writer's picture: Editorial StaffEditorial Staff

by Justin Lacour


I’m sitting next to a man missing the tips of his ears like they were bitten or ripped off he can’t see too good either he asks me to read his lotto tickets maybe he won he didn’t so he salutes the flag behind the bar and begins to look for a ride home when i was young i dreamed of getting in my car and driving to the heart of America this is where i ended up out where the waves crash into the rocks each election day there are less of us now the night your ex-wife died we ran panicked into the streets looking for an AA meeting for coffee and cigarettes then the donut shop the hour you can buy day olds and drunks stumble in from parades i tried to describe how my cousin once rolled on the floor and spoke in tongues but you were already disappearing first to detox then to jail and i laid

in bed thumbing a plastic rosary when i think of the Virgin now i think how she said yes to it all to an aching back and sore breasts a sword in her heart yes to living with a serpent always underneath her heel


 

Justin Lacour lives in New Orleans with his wife and three children, and edits Trampoline. His first full-length collection, A Season in Heck & Other Poems, is forthcoming from Fernwood Press.

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