Hearse Deferred
by Kelsey Smoot
‘You can’t pay your fucking bills’
he said, in a slow-churning southern drawl
that stuck to the air like the heartiest pork belly
The crow’s feet at his eye corners made him look
a few years older than his silky, starkly brown mane would imply
I regretted my question
Hot grease popped like the bad knee on which
he hobbled while tending the stove top
I wondered if he knew I thought he was beautiful
We drank whiskey mixed with Kool-Aid
and his portly old cat
sauntered right across his dinner plate
while he scooped meat with his hands
and sucked greedily on his thumbs
I couldn’t tell if the lump in my throat
was comprised of titillation
or disdain
We ate with no words
just harried chewing from us both
After, he pulled out a small rusted tin case
from which he drew the shriveled,
half smoked joint from earlier
I spied the brass lighter on the coffee table
—out of his reach
I knew better than to help
He rose from his chair, and grimaced
as the foot on his bad leg slapped the hardwood
In a swift motion, he turned the three foot distance
into one step
by lunging forward and hurling himself onto the couch
All of the bones of his body clanked precariously
He grabbed the lighter, lit the little sprig, and inhaled for eternity
Then, as if the conversation had not been interrupted
by an hour’s time of wordlessness, he continued,
‘so, that’s what it feels like to get older’
About the Author
Kelsey Smoot is a full-time PhD student in the interdisciplinary social sciences and humanities. They are also a poet, advocate, and frequent writer of critical analysis. Some of their other writings can be found here under the name "The Queer Insomniac." Their work can also be found here
From the Editor
Want to read even more? Check out Kelsey's website