Oyster Boy Review 08  
  January 1998
 
 
 
 
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» Levee 67

 
 
 
Poetry


For Love

C. Earl Nelson


disgusting
the things ive done
for it,
waiting til dawn
for a beige telephone
to twist madly
in its beige cradle,
racing
up interstate 75
on fire
for a drunk irish woman
and her wide ass,
every last thing
i own
packed tightly
into the trunk of
yet another failing automobile.
you take it in stride
with a grin
all judgement cast aside.
knowing full well
and
knowing not
a goddamned thing
except
the manner in which
her voice crawls like song
vibrating a thin wire
the last string
the final straw
until
wound tighter
than a clockspring
you dive.