Tonight's Poet Corner: Hometown Blues
Hometown Blues by Belinda Roddie Dropped out of high school to sell handmade cigars at the market every Thursday. Made a killing, actually. People thought the shitty stogies I rolled were Cuban. Nah, bro. Homegrown, full-blooded American. You can't import that kind of nationalist spirit. Stains your teeth red, white, and blue and makes you spit fireworks. My dad had been a welder 'til he lost all five fingers on his left hand in a freak accident he won't go into detail about. It must have been freaky, because we only found out about the injury when he staggered home, drunk, with blood dripping from the mangled lump of flesh attached to his wobbling wrist. He didn't want to go to the emergency room 'cause we didn't have healthcare and he didn't want my mom to go bankrupt. Nice guy, I guess. Right now, he's dying from liver cancer. Loves his whiskey more than he loves his kids. Found my ex-girlfriend at the old arcade that somehow