Alyssa? Alyssa
Zach Arnett
We left the PCH on our tongues
and all the water turned a bad color.
A sprinter van of brat skin
swiped Grave Digger
and fed the ocean fat
in hooves lips and teeth.
On cue, everyone honked
once they felt different from
all that’s dear and appealing to them.
Grave Digger’s paint job asked
why did God curse the faithful
with so much of what they want?
I told him I said Gravedigger,
all my want tattooed in rash
5 years ago
hot as tears from football fans.
Since escaped my skin as steam.
I’m fine, baby. I’m good.
Of course I lied.
It’s been a year where flames point up
Base urges- tanks filed with their tread and hatches.
The Colts made the Bud Lite can.
Cousins I just stopped talking to.
We’re hauling a pillowcase
of Alyssa’s dry shampoo
and deeply crave an end to fear.
Zach Arnett was educated at Ball State University. His poems can be found in Red Ogre Review, Lost Pilots Lit, Panoplyzine, Red Noise Collective, and elsewhere. He works at the library.
