David Rode The Power Mower

That summer Weaving over these grave
Dreaming of sock hop records in high school

Cary claimed sex with six girls on one grave
Into a single moonless night in May
On a blue blanket Till now That is my record

Stephen [Who avoided girls Their voices & bodies]
Would sit for hours drinking one beer
Then stagger up & down trying to damage
As many grave stones for his notebook “Record”

None had a sliver of respect for the dead
Until our parents vanished into hospital beds
Until our brothers & sisters melted in car wrecks
Until we woke curled & shaking in wet grass
Dawn’s light crawling into our blind-drunk eyes