by Matthew Early

I was stopped in the parking lot
of an Aldi the other day
by a gentleman wearing tobacco-stained
denim overalls:
An acceptable replacement for his shirt.

Before clambering into his rusted Ford,
he told me
I needed to get my shit together
over dropping a bag of groceries.

I watched the faux testicles
on the hitch of his truck
swing against his party plates
as he plowed over a speed bump.

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