Doc is getting a new roof next
                                                door, working some kind of hail
                                                damage scam and I should probably
                                                climb onto my own roof to see
                                                if I qualify. Doc wasn’t an actual
                                                physician, but back in the day
                                                could prescribe and procure
                                                something to make you feel
                                                better. I wish he’d prescribe sunscreen
                                                to all those kids scrambling around
                                                up there, and ear protection.
                                                They’re firing nail guns into fresh
                                                plywood and Tyvek. Oh, but then
                                                they wouldn’t be able to hear
                                                Chris Stapleton, Miranda Lambert
                                                from their boom box. 

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Chris Dungey is a retired auto worker in MI. He rides a mountain bike and a Honda scooter for the planet; follows Detroit City FC with religious fervor. More than 180 of his poems have appeared in litmags and online. Most recently in Abraxas and Thimble Lit; forthcoming in Avalon Review, The Itch, and Alexander Review.