POEM | C. Wade Bentley
Gone Off Your dog took to me like a favorite tree. Your mom made her whiskeysauce meatloaf, and was feeling no pain. Your grandpa beamed at the way I phrased my Jeopardy answers in the form of questions during my run through Potent Potables. When I played a diamond to dummy’s ace to end our bridge game and take two overtricks, there were smiles all around. And when they left us alone, at last, it was as if they had already undone the top three buttons of your blouse. We may have failed to account sufficiently for you, however, how you would say you could smell it on me, something like optimism long spent, like potato salad or Clams Casino left sitting out. Raleigh Review | 31
