Brian Clifton

Tuck Me In, Tell Me Good Night



about the dark

my eyes rolled


around the room

My son crawled out


from under

the bed

He tucked


the blankets

around me

When he stopped


moving he


my son who




from his teeth




I served him

a sandwich


I dropped

it where

my son sat


In the kitchen

the garbage



My son


in the other

room my hand


crammed down

the trash’s throat




Being a parent

is being


under the bed

and on top

In the morning


I sat on the edge

of the mattress





second sliced

up the dark

In Traffic


a black Accord

with its blinker on


I sigh

my daughter says


everything behind

inching toward


an empty space

we do not move


she waves the car

into our lane


& raises the volume’s

invisible fist

Brian Clifton has work in: Pleiades, Guernica, Cincinnati Review, Salt Hill, Colorado Review, The Journal, Beloit Poetry Journal, and other magazines. They are an avid record collector and curator of curiosities.


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