Bullet Holes In Stop Signs

I went back to Ohio to dig my roots out of the walls and fields and missteps,
giant steps, girlfriends pregnant with hope and trust and baby teeth
factory sweat hid muddy tears, cloudy ditches, axel snapping pothole
complexions drunk with anger
sad sack cornfields dancing with overweight scarecrows that bring
thunderstorms to their aching knees
handcuffed with blue hot roach clips celebrating Xmas eve in the city jail,
(18 and I like it)
banquet of rubber eggs and deep-fried couch potatoes as my mother cried
for my protection from two lane country chicken feathers
bleeding madras pendants stanch the flow of an educated guess while pert
prom queens sit on the face of the courthouse clock waiting to inherit the
keys to the comfortable
shotguns, deer rifles, and BB guns harmonize to bro country before it was
invented on stock car radios skidding out of control on rock salt cancerous
melodies
flowers smell of gunpowder
my reflection has never been so dear
I remain over my own shoulder
for now

Dig Wayne has lived and practiced his art in New York City and London. He now lives in Los Angeles. He is an acting instructor at the Lee Strasberg Theatre and Film Institute. His poetry has been published in the literary journals, Askew, Spillway, High Shelf Press, Ligeia Magazine, Poetry Super Highway, Cultural Weekly and many others. Dig has produced three collections of poetry, Hip Pockets, Bongo Skin and most recently, One Fell Swoop on innateDivinitybooks available on Amazon.