We climbed into the car in the driveway,
the windshield spiderwebbed
and darkened with blood. But the radio
still worked, and we turned the key
and the CD was welcomed into the tray.
We rolled down the windows, the summer
simmering outside, our grass-smeared skin
hardened to the heat. We played that new album,
the one with the video, the one with the word
censored in the chorus. We yelled it loud
when it reached that part, the unstarted car
throbbing, the deer hair lodged
between the crystal cracks vibrating in a way
that it only ever did once before, the night
on the highway, the night the tires
sounded like guitar feedback, the night
the hood spiked like a wavelength,
the night the windshield split like syllables
censored on MTV for the seeming benefit
of two boys too young to drive
or read death’s jagged signature
on the windshield of their sisters’ car.
Devon Neal (he/him) is a Bardstown, KY resident who received a B.A. in creative writing from Eastern Kentucky University and an M.B.A. from The University of the Cumberlands. He currently works as a human resources manager in Louisville, KY. His work has been featured in Moss Puppy Magazine, Dead Peasant, Paddler Press, MIDLVLMAG, and others.
Image: “Parked” by Alex J. Tunney
Pine Hills Review 