C. L. Bledsoe, Winter 2017

The Men in the White Vans
C. L. Bledsoe

They wake earlier than some go to bed,
the men with hard hands, and every one
of them smiles when he sees my toddler
daughter flounce by. Breakfast is quick
and on the way because there’s no food
in the house, or maybe no peace, and sugar
is cheap. I see them when I leave in the smoky
dark, lining the parking lot, an obstacle course
of battered whaling ships covered with ladders,
poles that resemble harpoons, tools. I don’t
know what they do, but it’s probably Continue reading “C. L. Bledsoe, Winter 2017”

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