“Really Loud and Partially Deaf” by Brett Gordon

“Really Loud and Partially Deaf”
dedicated to my Husband, Army Veteran Mark Batton

My wife brings up
  a basket of laundry.
  She doesn’t say anything.
  She doesn’t need to.

I know she despises folding laundry.
  It’s a load of towels.
  I grab one.
  Warm and fresh-smelling.

I fold it in half,
  then fold again,
  the way it fits best
  under the cabinet.

I’m driving the Humvee.
  We’re on patrol in
  the village. Alert, I eyeball
  suspect sand.

It’s probably nothing,
  but it could always be
  something. Lead foot pedal
  pushes us on.

It’s too quiet as I
  fold. Too many ghosts.
  The needle touches
  grooved record.

Percy Sledge lets me
  fold in peace. I sway.
  I fold.
  I focus.

Battling flashes
  rip me back.
  Reluctantly, I return
  to the desert.

We round the corner in
  a tan, monochrome town.
  Alert, my eyes
  sweep shadows.

It’s probably nothing,
  but it could
  always be.


Windshield shattered,
  ripped upholstery, earplug
  on the floor. Underwater,
  ears don’t wait to drown.

Lead foot pedal
  Pushes us out of town.
  My wife comes in to
  turn the music down.


Brett Gordon is a writer and poet from the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.
Her writing is deeply rooted in and inspired by the folklore and culture of Appalachia.
She loves to explore and celebrate the region through her poetry.
She is currently an MFA student at West Virginia Wesleyan College.






**Featured image by Art Guzman, Pexels 

1 Comment

  1. Beautiful poem. As Robert Frost would say, it clutches the reader by the throat!

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