Bart

I was the only child
allowed near him. The man
who spent every summer
night charring cheap steaks,
drinking with my father. The man
who pissed in the swimming pool,
spent night on the common lawn
too far gone to make it to bed.

When Bart had not been out for a week
the landlord checked his apartment.
A mattress lay on the floor amidst cans
cast like spent shells.
His face was pale green,
seen through dried vomit.

One day of cleaning,
two for the paperwork,
up for rent in three.



About the Author: TC Tonn lives in Brooklyn and writes very rarely. Once upon a time he went to school in Montana where he wrote more and once in a while he goes and writes with some nice people at the 92nd St. Y, which you would think is a place where people work out but it's not. Now he mostly fritters away his life playing music with some bands and making weird little videos. The bands sound like this and like this, The videos look like this.  He also makes some mean beef jerky.