Write a poem about a town [person] that haunts you
but instead of his or her name identify the place
as a pot of scalding water being thrown in your face
then write this poem [person] a letter but in the letter
mention a few facts about how the summer moonlight
saw every [fucking] fist then ask the poem [town]
whom is still not in Hell if it ever visits the dogdead
pines where this poem lays and ask the poem [my mother]
where the Sig Sauer is buried, make a grocery list of all
the animals it’s [you’ve] killed but not until I find
the photo [bullets] of the boy sitting with his chicken
on my porch both [burning] pale and starched like a stuffed priest.
Yvonne Amey is a poet with an MFA from the University of Central Florida. Her work has appeared in The Florida Review, 50 Gs, Vine Leaves Journal, and elsewhere.