The Rev, a re-telling
after Eve Ewing
I’m reading The Wheel of Time on my fluffy ass bed, mom never skimps on fluff, stoned, ok, fine, I’m napping, mostly, but I need something to tell mom I’m doing because she’ll probably try to discern whether my eyes are bloodshot because of allergies or weed and she very much always approves of reading whatever it is. She’s the only one I have to worry about catching me tonight, which I’m pretty comfortable with because dad has a way better sense of stoned. Dad is out for the night, guy’s night. The men are piling into the Reverend’s van. He doesn’t drink, so it’s perfect. It is a 45 minute drive to the strip clubs in Providence, but much better than to run into anyone else they know.
The heat breaks while they’re on the highway and the rains lash the windowshield until the Reverend says sorry, boys, we’re going to have to pull over and wait it out. The rains flood the highway until all the men are supposed to have come home, and the water is up over the wheels so even if the rains stop they will have to wait till morning it to subside. They turn the radio on and the only station they can tune into is playing Beyoncé’s Lemonade all night. Six inch heels, she walked in the club like nobody’s business, murdered everybody and I was her witness. The van floats out to sea, where T belches and figures they’ll be able to hook some fish, stripers this time of year, he’s pretty sure, at the least. They laugh, then are quiet again.
Andy Powell is a Teaching Artist for DreamYard in the Bronx, has poems out or forthcoming with Winter Tangerine Review, Voicemail Poems, Bad Pony Mag, elsewhere, is a reader for Adroit Journal, and is a 2018 fellow to The Poetry Foundation & Crescendo Literary's Poetry Incubator.