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Aubade in a Red State, and: Oklahoma, and: County Fair

Aubade in a Red State, and: Oklahoma, and: County Fair poetr y Josh Myers Aubade in a Red State Red like the fanned tail of the half-starved hawk mantling over a cat, twelve weeks deep in drought, beak wet with the eye’s sweet rot, the liver. Red like the dirt blown loose from thirst-gagged roots, twisting in little devils over brittle grass. Red like the contrails’ lit cords burning across the faces of the final stars, red like the sun’s chapped smile come bleeding back from its respite. Red like the singlet the boy wears under a sweatshirt under a black plastic bag as he sprints every stairway in the stadium before weigh-in trying to shuck enough sweat from his flesh to let him wrestle smaller boys. Red like the diet pills that make him itch inside, make him crosshatch his body with scratches livid as wet clay. Red like the mat he drives the boys into, chin digging at their shoulders as they flail like hooked crappies, red like the mat that should collapse right through the gym floor’s polished slats for how hard he’s pushing down. Red like the quarry brimful with a brazen sky, the only place he’s ever felt light enough, floating. Red like http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Aubade in a Red State, and: Oklahoma, and: County Fair

The Missouri Review , Volume 40 (3) – Oct 11, 2017

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

poetr y Josh Myers Aubade in a Red State Red like the fanned tail of the half-starved hawk mantling over a cat, twelve weeks deep in drought, beak wet with the eye’s sweet rot, the liver. Red like the dirt blown loose from thirst-gagged roots, twisting in little devils over brittle grass. Red like the contrails’ lit cords burning across the faces of the final stars, red like the sun’s chapped smile come bleeding back from its respite. Red like the singlet the boy wears under a sweatshirt under a black plastic bag as he sprints every stairway in the stadium before weigh-in trying to shuck enough sweat from his flesh to let him wrestle smaller boys. Red like the diet pills that make him itch inside, make him crosshatch his body with scratches livid as wet clay. Red like the mat he drives the boys into, chin digging at their shoulders as they flail like hooked crappies, red like the mat that should collapse right through the gym floor’s polished slats for how hard he’s pushing down. Red like the quarry brimful with a brazen sky, the only place he’s ever felt light enough, floating. Red like

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 11, 2017

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