Roadwork

Red Bank Avenue looped
east, past the hospital,
under the overpass,
and down towards the river.
The patchwork of its skin,
concrete and blacktop
bandaids that boiled in Jersey
bastard heat and crack froze
as winter stumbled down
the coast. As spring became May,
long cracks split the rock,
angry and jagged, abusive
parents’ scars worn as bar scars,
a Bud bottle dug into the shoulder,
slash down the face matching,
beautiful and worth the story.

Each car would clip those cracks,
drum solo, teenager band dreams,
as expired inspection stickers,
and unbuckled heroes run errands
of lottery tickets and shifts
at the county. Coffee cups steady
under the blossoms of street,
the weeds that spread through,
a dried cancer that mixed with kiss
of oil, the cut-off distraction, Ratt’s songs
still summoning the guitars
from the grave. His head hit
the curb before hers did, the car
absorbing the curve, the ancient oaks,
the final breaths and gore,
the future, a loving God, a healthy son,
and the force of life ending in stone.

CL lives in Conshohocken, PA, with his real name, wife, and children. He is a two-time nominee for Best of the Net, with his poem “November Snow. Philadelphia Children’s Hospital” being a finalist in 2021. His work has appeared in such journals as Humana Obscura, Red Fez, River Heron Review, Marrow, and American Writers Review, amongst others.