Black Creek
Poetry by:
JOSH BEANE
Black Creek I
My mother once
Spent three weeks in her
Sanctuary
And never once came down to the creek
Never twice swore an oath
And only 3 times drank water
Strong as the minnows
Swimmin and slitherin between her toes
A boy wading through handshakes
Black Creek III
You ever seen that dust carry a sound
Like the dull thud of a
Sledgehammer laying heavily a
Railroad cross tie longing to
Ferry both children or iron or
Linnens
And Mama with her steel wand ringing the triangle
Found no one come a calling
Cause we were swimming in Black Creek - that’s his name
I swear
One time Papa Doodle told a story about Black Creek
Because he liked to tell stories and dirty jokes
He say they called the swimmin hole
Forty Foot.
Because they dropped a 40ft pole down there and
Never found the end and
Maybe the bed ate that pole as we want to
Eat in beds
But anyway his buddy
Whats-his-name
Came up from Forty Foot with about 40 baby moccasins
Dangling from his tiny body
So they fished him out and spat names names at the water a little less
Lasting than
Black Creek
Black Creek V
Yesterwind felt like chasing that dog with
No tail
Her name was Lady
And she definitely had the mange
Tiddies done been used up cause she
Old
But I loved her as such so we’d still toss a tussle
And when she sat down to the water
We all listened
Like we was in private school
Black Creek VI
One time I about cut my thumb off in Dovesville
But if you’re askin round they call it
Doesville
Out there
I was whittlin a stick probably to make a sharper stick
Cause we all just achin to be a little
More sharp
But I damn sure about took that thumb off
And I damn sure made a mess of that kitchen
And Momma damn sure took me to the ER in that
Cheap one piece costume
Worn because boys like to play dress up too
And worn because it got so damn hot
In the summer
Follow Josh:
Instagram: @actual.watersBio:
I was born of a southern hairdresser who lost her mind after a third divorce, maybe because I was the only man who really loved her. She spent enough time talking for me to become a great listener. Both of my grandpas were truck drivers. One taught me dirty jokes too young, and the other couldn’t teach me to whistle. I’ve spent my life trying to figure out what city I belong to, and I’m still on the hunt, I think. I scowl when I’m thoughtful. I have a hard time finding a dog that doesn’t want to be best buddies. I fight myself to be productive. I read fantasy novels to escape. If given the option, I’d probably put an egg over every meal.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
EST 2020
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© THE QUARTERLESS REVIEW ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
EST 2020
︎
© THE QUARTERLESS REVIEW ALL RIGHTS RESERVED