DWI, poem by CL Bledsoe

They pulled Dad over on the way home
from vis­it­ing us at Aunt Louise’s house
where we were stay­ing while the divorce

went through. His truck died, so he shut
off his lights, cranked it, and flipped
them back on. A cop thought it was a sig­nal

cause there had been rob­beries in the neigh­bor­hood.
When they brought him in, he informed
the whole build­ing what he’d like for break­fast,

how his cell should be dec­o­rat­ed. A preach­er
came to talk with him. “Do you save peo­ple?”
Dad asked. “Yes sir,” the preach­er said, seri­ous.

Do you save women?” Dad asked.
“Yes sir,” the preach­er said, a touch of pride,
this time. “Do you save pros­ti­tutes?” Dad asked.

Yes sir,” the preach­er nod­ded. “Well can you save
me a cou­ple for Sat­ur­day night?” Dad asked.

clbledsoe200x288CL Bled­soe is the author of a dozen books, most recent­ly the poet­ry col­lec­tion Rice­land and the nov­el Man of Clay. He lives in north­ern Vir­ginia with his daugh­ter.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to DWI, poem by CL Bledsoe

  1. Pat Kuras says:

    I love this poem! I think it's a scream!

  2. Mary Hatem says:

    Wow–packs quite a wallop…thank you for the writ­ing, thank you for the shar­ing

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.