I’ll watch the news

I fall asleep on the couch when I miss her, and I miss her. Today I saw the last flower in town and the leaves said hi. The grass scrapes when it is about to die. I work better in summer heat with shade from a tree and a body of water that loves me deep down. Winter damages my youth and idealism, I just hide it well. We had our dream date, then my mugshot showed up in the Cheyenne police department, then I ripped it into pieces and threw it in the trash. Trying to be more American, she held onto a yellow apple, and the country was starting to appreciate a boy with a poem. Life is fair but blurry, plus these high-def textures look too real. The leaves look fake like Mossy Oak. Tonight I’ll make the hall of fame because the flowers are gone, because rain is falling and the news comes on. The her from past years would bring me apple pie without the apple, and when I’d move closer, turn off the lights in the daytime, hypothetically we would have sex. United we would sleep it off. She said I looked good mounted on the wall next to the deer’s head, I’m sorry for what I said after that, said it all in my underwear hanging off the bed a little bit. This poem is about perfect moments, and without the leaves to hide them, those moments show up. The pain in her eyes was investigated, the funny gene is what did me in. From the very beginning, I matched the madness, went too fast down the road in my volcano bliss, in my work boots watching daughters play softball. My sorry goes all over the country. My sorry makes angels.

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from Je Suis Américain–published by Press Brake

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By Nick Hedtke 👍