If you: fear daylight feel self-conscious about your sixth finger, live alone without a radio, rearrange furniture every Tuesday, feel like a flounder stranded eye-side up in the sand, still shiver under your comforter, wear a wig, still listen to 80’s eight-tracks, think burning incense will keep you alive longer, ride around town in a taco truck, never receive postcards, have never been amazed a little by lightning, never seen a real rooster on a roof, never had a hickey on your tongue, have just stepped out your box, are a garage sale goer, are balding, green, or missing teeth, have had a miscarriage but refuse to get the baby taken out, call your wife mama, your husband daddy, are married and own a sugar shack, fantasize about how your children might look, are missing a testicle, have a triple nipple, have never baked a cake or eaten a mud pie, never climbed a tree or pissed outside, have never left the porch light on for trick-or-treaters, wear ugly hats, forget to visit your mother in the nursing home, are a member of a secret society, have had to wear hand-me-downs your whole child life, are unable to trust, grow your own oregano, have never flushed a goldfish down the toilet, have never swallowed a dime, have never been made to pick your own whipping switch, or if you just have a bad case of the devil, then sign on the next line. By tomorrow, when you wake, you’ll weigh a breath less.
Hillary Joubert received his BA degree from Louisiana State University and his MA and MFA degrees from McNeese State University in Lake Charles, Louisiana, where he works as an Instructor of English. His poems have appeared in Sin Fronteras, Platte Valley Review, Nerve Cowboy, The Louisiana Review, and other journals. His poetry won a 2009 Louisiana Division of the Arts Fellowship award in Literature and a 2005 Ruth Lilly Fellowship for Young Poets nomination.
He craves hard for Tom Yum.
Back to Issue 4: Hungry Things