Like tar the smoke
On our skin
The small mouth
Of the neighbor’s gun
Singeing the clotheslines
Our dogs biting off
Pieces of the night
The next day ditching
School and walking
Miles to watch
Satanist metal bands
On Geraldo and help
Ourselves to your father’s
Last six pack of cheap beer
Well-knowing his anger
Wouldn’t let the world
See you the next day
The natural light
Rushing in through
The window dazzling
Our senses
Our long hair needing
More fire and the breeze
Sailing to us from a future
We could imagine
For others but not
For ourselves
Wonder now if your eyes
Retained their softness
Like the fur of your pet goat Lucifer
Wonder if you are out there
Tonight, brother,
Still dreaming as I am
To be as pure and bright
As the morning’s final star.
Copyright © 2026 by Octavio Quintanilla. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 9, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
