Lovelock, poem by Michael N. Thompson

The gul­ley behind the bowl­ing alley
is a grave­yard of rust­ed bicy­cle frames,
soda pop bot­tles and bust­ed kites

Refin­ery boys march with match­ing lunch pails
and the cha­grin worn is as plain as day

Most of them knocked up the girls
they knew from high school
and spend every weekend
work­ing on mus­cle cars
that will nev­er leave the blocks

Regur­gi­tat­ing the same bile
into a meat grinder
gets passed from fathers
down to their sons

Any­thing beyond blend­ing in
with the rest of the herd
is seen as treason

The clos­est thing to gentrification
came when some fat cat
foot­ed the bill for a new jail

Before you know it,
the years slip by
like dust between fingers

Despite its name,
there’s noth­ing to love
about Lovelock

thompsonmichaelMichael N. Thomp­son likes bacon, fan­ta­sy foot­ball and Doc­tor Who. His poet­ry has appeared in numer­ous lit­er­ary jour­nals includ­ing Word Riot, Toron­to Quar­ter­ly and San Pedro Riv­er Review. He is the author of four poet­ry col­lec­tions, the most recent being A Mur­der Of Crows (Uni­ver­si­ty Of Hell Press, 2014). His next col­lec­tion, Days Of Swine And Ros­es, will also be released through Uni­ver­si­ty Of Hell Press in 2017. Michael cur­rent­ly resides among the pas­tures and pines of North­ern Cal­i­for­nia. http://​www​.michael​nthomp​son​.com/

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