Two Poems

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Ely Ingling

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What Hicks Do Best

 

Summer stretches ahead, 

Sticky hot days, golden pink dusks

Biting mosquitoes, singing cicadas, 

How the morning glories search for the sun each dawn

And the stars decorate the night, pinpricks threaded together by mythos, 

Storms that roll in and out, mercurial

 

Clouds reduce the

Middle of the day to darkness,

Though the sun was just shining,

Puddles well in the streets;

Rivers run in the gutters.

Wind whips and snarls,

Tearing at tree, wire, and light

 

Remember when the gusts tore down the transformer?

The power cut, sudden as the storm

Still hot despite the gusts,

The rain, a warm shower

We did what hicks do best: 

Sat on the porch and gossiped. 

 

The neighbor was drinking again;

A cousin said hi;

Your coworker pissed you off;

My sister pissed me off.

 

I only liked being a hick

When we were hicks together. 

 

Thunder and lightning punctuated each sentence, 

the smoke from your Marlboro reds

Coiled around us in writhing gray wisps

 

We sought shelter once more

When your cigarette butts littered the ground. 

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To-Do List

 

Soap suds crawl up my wrists,

Delicate lace against my skin

Water’s too hot–

Hands are chapped, red and raw and stinging,

But the dishes need to be done.

 

Then the trash has to be taken out;

The cold bites through my t-shirt, chaps my hands more;

The dumpster reeks; the bag strains against itself.

After the handoff, I pivot–

Laundry, homework,

Call my mother, play games with my sister,

Laugh and laugh at how she kicks my ass.

 

What a wonderful life to live.

Things to do, to learn,

People to love,

Dishes to wash.

 

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Ely Ingling, SAS ’24, is a linguistics major and creative writing minor from Columbus, NJ. Language has been a passion of theirs since they were a young child, and they hope to publish more of their work one day.