Joe
Joe and Uncle Jesse
I quit, he said,
just quit.
Happen you find
enough air
left in the tires
of that old ‘81 Plymouth,
have her!
But I’m through.
What else he said
I’m damned
if I remember;
he just stepped
off the store porch,
walked a half-mile
down the road
to Haverstraw’s,
beat the whole field
at shuffleboard,
and lay down and died.
In style, by God.
ξ
Joe and the Water Main
Goddamnedest piece
of ingenuity I’ve
ever seen, Joe said,
nodding.
But, Joe, everyone
said, she’s raw
concrete hardened.
Can’t question you
there, man,
said Joe,
but have you seen
the way that L
comes out of that
T.
But, Joe, you
couldn't chip her
with a pickaxe.
No, man, no,
but ain’t that
the beauty,
take off the collar,
you got the
slickest
threads ever machined,
what a line of joinery!
That, baby, wasn't
made for
no ordinary me.
ξ
Joe and the Delivery Man
Backed up to the door and let off.
I said, What am I supposed
to do with this?
How do I know, the driver said,
all I’m told to do is deliver.
Then, what is it?
Don’t know that neither,
but I’d get it inside before it rains.
Well, who sent it?
Guy named Smith, that’s all I know.
Where’d it come from?
What’s all these twenty questions, man,
my foot’s in the door, ass’s in the seat.
Am I expected to pay for it?
That’s your problem,
my guess is by check.
Made out to who?
To whoever. Who you buy it from?
I can’t go through that again.
Then sign by the X on the line,
make my job easy one time.
You asked, and I’m telling:
that’s how I got the goddamned thing.
ξ
Trent Busch, native of rural West Virginia, lives in Georgia where he makes furniture. He has published in Best American Poetry, Poetry, Nation, Threepenny Review, North American Review, Kenyon Review, and The American Scholar. His recent books of poetry, not one bit of this is your fault, (2019) and Plumb Level and Square (2020) were published by Cyberwit.net.