Poetry from Lisa Folkmire


Image via Unsplash


The neighbor boy has hot boxed in his duct-taped Chevy
again. The smell seeps through the window screen just as
the whirrs of the highway envelop our home. Tires speeding
past unfilled potholes, broken glass bottles, hidden cop cars.
Across the street, four wheels stalled in the drive. Windows
cracking now, they’re coming up for air. A finger draped
over the top of the opened glass. It’s the only time
we’ve communicated. 



Lisa Folkmire is a poet from Warren, Michigan. She is an MFA candidate at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her work has appeared in See Spot Run and Heron Tree literary journals, Yellow Chair Review‘s Rock the Chair challenge, Rat’s Ass Review, and VerseWrights.

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