A new poem by j. taylor bell.

Jimmy Carter’s Peanut Farm

or a perfectly intact 2-pack
of colgate max fresh patiently waiting
for no one at the gaston stop bench

whether or not there’s still radioshack
what ever happened anyway to circuit city
& when was the last time someone set foot in

the lonely alcoves of a best buy, way back
with friends in the halcyon food courts of shopping
mall subways for eight hours unbroken

or how old pancho villa sylvia plath
emmett till federico garcia lorca or robin williams
woulda coulda shoulda been

to behold the uninterpreted plaques
outside the reservation casino, in between
the gift shop and the garbage bins

the panama papers, ask jeeves, equifax
whether or not gendry is in fact still rowing
if carole baskin loved or killed her husband

or both, logan paul in japan, rebecca black
cambridge analytica, the royal wedding, big tex
the harlem shake, the ice bucket challenge

my dad liked to leave himself voice memos on a yakbak
the future-train groans forward, slow as lightning
the planet remains as connected as four, and yet

people still tend to forget
that time almost six percent of australia burned down

The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed and will open again soon.