Poetry from Patrick Sweeney

everything the egg might mean to Grace

in her one-room apartment

when they tell you what should be the least

of your worries

hand covering his birthmark

she sees my father in me

the summer my hippie sister

made the Blessed Mother cry

he tells me the real reason

he joined the bomb squad

what are you going to do

when they find out you can’t read

it’s the ‘elytra’  the lady bug

is struggling to sort

 Bashō’s feet hurt, too

they smoked a half-pack of Pall Malls before breakfast,

the radio blaring…

the lavender eyes of the sea glass collector

at 90 mph

Mayor Dan starved to death in that front room

on the lower end of Clifton…

I used to ride by on my bike

if you get near the Arno

you know what to do

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