Disguise by Brad Rose

I stopped at a Mobile mini-mart, and bought some gas and groceries. You can buy hair dye in a mini-mart, change your hair color in the bathroom, if you need to.

Sometimes, I hear the deep blue wire of the sky, hissing. Even at night, when the clouds crawl on their soft knees through the dark.

Bare hands are the windows of the soul. That’s what the Bible says.

When Loretta broke up with me, she promised she’d always love me, even if after she turned 14, her daddy made her marry another man. That Loretta, cute as a button.

I hate driving these back roads across the state line. At least I don’t have to wear a wig in all this goddamned heat.

Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles and lives in Boston. He is the author of a collection of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing) His two new books of poems, Momentary Turbulence and WordinEdgeWise, are forthcoming from Cervena Barva Press. Recent examples of his work can be read at The American Journal of Poetry. Brad’s website is: www.bradrosepoetry.com

Photo by Rezal Scharfe