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146th Weekly Poetry Contest honorable mention: Bile Summer

by Thorsten

  Bile Summer
The gun is a disco ball.
Scant lit fractures around
the car interior. Over aerosol
cans, empty vodka bottles, cocaine
fuchsia hands, dawn
tremors on the steering wheel.
It’s a 357.
They thrum on 75
Barreling at skele-vestiges
Resplendent sunrise as an engine.
Wailing cinders,
careen north, slightly east.
Where the suburbs flew
after 1967.
Seared rooftops, sweat
yellow-sick vapor, push
the wind.
A mantle, still
singing derision from
last decade. 
I’m gonna’ shoot it at the yard.
They clamber
Perspiring July brush.
An underpass spat chunks of itself
into the dirt.
A bile summer, split morning
in two, deafened the russet
tracks for miles. 

146th Weekly Poetry Contest