The apple doesn’t fall
far from the tree,
doesn’t it?—
as my father loves
to say
about everything
except me
and him, really.
Split him in two
and get blood
-splotched skin
and tubes
of blood thinners.
Get a son
and the remedy.
Get deer hide hung
on tanning hooks
and skin in the game
of raising a boy
who knows how hunting
can signify a man.
Willingness to stay
in a tree stand
for hours, sharing
hours’-worth of silence
and body heat.
Pitch a rifle bullet
makes passing
through air
as opposed to flesh.
Knowledge that the time
between the sound
of a fired bullet
and the thump
of a carcass on brush
is a unit of distance.
Born and raised on Louisiana’s Gulf Coast, Nicholas Molbert lives in Los Angeles. He is the author of the chapbooks Goodness Gracious and Cocodrie Elegy, both from Foundlings Press.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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