Dylan Ecker

About Last Wednesday

I’m not joking around
my friend told me
before he went home.
Stained teeth and toothpick
body. Closed up
that night. All the waste
I bagged and left
beside the loading bay.

It’s not that I’m afraid
my friend told me.
I called in sick and
met him at the ledges.
We threw rocks at birds.
We weren’t trying to
run away. We were waiting
for gas prices to go down.

That’s not a job for us
my friend told me
in church. An old man
wobbled up for blood.
Started crying. We kept
the ash smudged on
our foreheads because
it looked sort of cool.

Not a huge surprise
my friend told me
stopping on the sidewalk
to peek inside at the gun
grey shelves all wrapped up.
I didn’t see what he was
seeing. On the window
his handprint, mine too.

Nothing left to love
my friend told me
reaching into the stream.
I took the warmouth
by the lip. I did exactly
what was needed. Eyes
seeking eyes. Eyes
redder than late fall.

This song has no song
my friend told me
drunk, but very aware
of the distance between
here and there. Here
being close to each other.
There being the dirt, its muscle
and all the pulverized pieces.

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Dylan Ecker is from northeast Ohio. He received his MFA from Miami University. Rejoices in the squish of a just-plucked elderberry. Has writing nominated for Best of the Net and is published or will soon appear in Indiana Review, Hobart, The Penn Review, RHINO, HOOT, Outlook Springs and elsewhere. Send your least funny knock-knock jokes to Dylan on Twitter @dillyeck.