German Hatchback |
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German Hatchback

In the sediment, years of beaten red granite, submissive to current
The broken headlight lies.
(The old woman, down off Highway 164, could tell you
It comes from a 20th-century
German hatchback.
Not that it matters much.)
Ten feet under water, the wires
Have long forgotten what to do with a DC current
And a crayfish has overwintered next to the filament,
A carcinogen according to California.

Mill Creek.
The memory of the namesake died
With the grandfather of that girl you have eyes for
Who drinks too little and never says enough.

The children swimming here
Know this is the place their fourth grade teacher
Flipped her car and drowned.
(She opted for the creek, over the oak tree.
She always loved water,
And had fond memories of her youth,
Catching dragonflies.)
It wasn’t Chappaquiddick,
But there are guardrails now.
The children swimming here
Don’t know what a mill is.
They like their Wonderbread
With twice as much jam as peanut butter,
And the crust cut off.


Pete Koz is poet from small town Wisconsin. He spends his time toeing a happy medium with the northwoods. His work has previously been published in The Midwest Review and Oracle Bone.


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