Smoked Corn

Fest,

Tomorrow's the first day of summer math.

T--Bird was like,

Why didn't you call me?

And I was like,

They live in Pennsylvania.

They've lived there their entire lives.

You're from the north country T--Bird.

No child is behind you today.

Unless you count the bloody black baby in the forest.

Your welcome to give me some pointers,

Except,

Swaddling clothes are hard to find nowadays.

Just kidding.

Maybe I could have tried harder.

No.

I really couldn't have tried any harder then the beer can collecting brother in law.

One brother in law remains.

Now.

I think he recycles his cans.

I don't know.

Maybe we can all meet at the Golden Apple every Sunday morning after church and scream at each other till it makes sense.

That's how I imagine a math break through.

Loud.

Like Meg Ryan with a dirty face loud.

Anyway,

I promised myself I'd go into this with an open mind.

The last time I had my mind open was the time I pretended to inhale the back alley behind the Academy.

Joe was there.

He had lost weight recently.

Wisdom teeth.

He went to Columbia.

All the three art's club ladies told me to go to Columbia.

I should have listened.

Their minds were open.

Girl.

Grand Canyons.

Nnnnnnnn's....

Guns.

Ditches.

Poetry contests.

You gotta make your own way.

Make it out of maid of honor dress scraps and duct tape.

Too hot to sleep.

Too bored to dig out the air conditioners.

Conditioned and ironed into square shaped hexagons and third powered exhaustion's.

Skin,

Toast,

Balls