Horseshoes

 

Horseshoes

After pulled pork on paper plates
I play horseshoes, that satisfying clang
with this old guy, stubby like a badger.
He said grace at this Kentucky barbecue
so I ask, “Are you a preacher?”
Clang.

“I was a firefighter for forty years,” he says,
“then I found  Christ after wasting my life.”
“Fighting fires isn’t a wasted life,” I say.
“I was a drunk,” he says, “and homosexuality
is an abomination in the eyes of God.”
Clank.

Okay, delicate territory. “God created us all,” I say.
“God,” he says, “created an abomination.”
Clink.

The hostess whose lesbian wedding we are here
to celebrate pulls my sleeve, leads me away,
takes the horseshoe from my hand and says
“Today is hard on Uncle Buck. Really hard.
And now you’re beating him at horseshoes.”
Clank.

We see Buck with his white mustache taking
practice throws, sweating, throwing hard.
“He thinks you’re the liberal snot from
California come to visit the hicks.”
Clang.

She hands me the curve of rusty steel,
a weight on my fingers.
Clink.
“Please lose.”

……

First published in Stoneboat