Needles were everywhere, alongside wheat
fields & the sun punishing with relentless
heat; I dragged you into a barn after father
had abandoned us like his horses.
This is old land, where men have been killed
for less than nickels and rye, rivers dried
into arroyos’ where dirt has been blessed
with memories of water.

The spot where Louis is buried alongside his chewy
and we laughed at how we named our blue heeler Louis.
You told me how Ben nearly killed you with a brick
and there was no one else to tell it to since
the police had no qualms beating two gay teens,
so I took the blame as boys will be boys.
“I almost drowned here once; don’t you remember?”
Farms with runoff chemicals for a disposable people
plastic whiskey jugs that blight guts like acid
& snakes rattling in sick bramble.

Our family only loved after tragedy; isn’t it strange
how pain ushers the best version of tears?
But it is all dying now; even the wooden beams
your rough hair and my blurry vision
how gusts feel like razors
against fragile skin.

…

Brandon Shane is an alum of California State University, Long Beach. He’s pursuing an MFA while working as a writing instructor and substitute teacher. You can see his work in the Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Messy Misfits, Mister Magazine, Remington Review, Discretionary Love, among others.