this quaint little town

is seedy as fuck

behind the Jackson Park ball fields

where the women pill up

and drink Marshmallow Cokes

at the Saturday Afternoon

Little League Games

and the men get drunk

and smoke dirt weed in the dug out

at the softball games

on Saturday Night

and across the parking lots

of second tier chain restaurants


where teenage hopefuls

dip dreams into bowls of alfredo

and those who’ve lost hope

dote on their husbands

who still wonder how a fuck

led to a family

so Jack Tanner

a prominent lawyer

uses his wife

to lure other women

married or not

to impress them

by getting them drunk

and hanging things off of his penis

and the judge Davey Richards

just takes drunk girls

from bar to car

and then swerves himself home

because who really cares

it’s a joke among

The Good Ole Boys

who sit laughing at round tables

of gin games and vodka drinks

in the stag lounge of

the country club

where women

are still not welcome

they make deals over pretzels

afraid of being anything else

and the two empty chairs

are from Walter and Frank

who need to be home with their kids

but wanted to stop by the Cozy

where the north end comes alive

and smells like ash trays and onion rings

and Bobby stabbed his cousin again

so no one can use the pool table

whatever you would use it for

as its two-dollar pints of PBR

and a buck for a shot of well whisky

until Phil gets back from an errand

with Bobby’s cousin’s wife

in the apartment next door

owned by the county treasurer

who watches behind a two way mirror

with his dick in his hand

as the bars close down

and Sunday brings the baptism of dawn

and church parking lots fill

with the faithful, the hungover, and the guilty

and baskets get passed

through toll-booth pews

of naively obedient servants

facing Pastor Best

who has lead them in prayer

and warned of the dangers

of Muslims and Homosexuals

but will get caught tonight

by his wife

writing letters to his old friend in Leeds

about the time they stuck it in each other’s ass

and called it male bonding

in the eyes of the Lord



Chad Kebrdle

Chad Kebrdle is an English Professor at Ancilla College and an MFA student at The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University. He finds both frustration and pleasure from residing in the cornfields of Indiana, where he draws inspiration for his work.

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