POTHOLES, POTHEADS, AND PAINT CHIPS
People lose some inhibition when the canopy of stars
mock their single wide below: such beauty staring with such pity.
Paint chips at the same rate as ones sensibility,
and a new coat is just so goddamn expensive.
Thus, one hears many things when walking this town at night:
drunken brawls on the pothole street,
amber flicks from the potheads perch,
cats in heat and dogs longing to lick the moon,
bugs carrying on in the grass.
Go deep enough into the cavernous night,
deep into the carnivorous town,
and one might meet the winos and chain smokers,
the rednecks under back porch awnings,
the headlamp hillbillies in their weed-devoured lawns,
looking for the meth bag they dropped last Wednesday.
Deeper still and one may hear trumpets, big bands, and lion roars,
and think Oh god, it’s the rapture. Keep going anyway,
there’s not much to do in this town but chase circus sounds.
Tyler Lemley
Tyler Lemley is a recent graduate of the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio, Tx where he received his Bachelor of Arts in Theatre Arts and English. Tyler writes from the perspective of a queer person from a small Texas town grappling with love and belonging. He has been published in the The Main Street Rag, The Tusculum Review, Does It Have Pockets, and has work forthcoming in Black Fox Literary.