Brian Clifton

Tuck Me In, Tell Me Good Night

Unsure

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

disappeared

my son who

unchains

lightning

from his teeth

*

I served him

a sandwich

I dropped

it where

my son sat

In the kitchen

the garbage

overflowed

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

Unafraid

each

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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