By Tim McLafferty
When Nettie died they got new suits, straight
off the rack, blocky, and overlong in the leg.
With neckties askew, shoes that blistered their
feet, and new haircuts, it is of note that in life
Nettie had never seen them so neat, and
for their part, they had never seen her so quiet.
Tim McLafferty lives in NYC and works as a drummer. He has played on Broadway in Urinetown, Grey Gardens, and many other places. His poetry appears in Barrow Street, decomP, Painted Bride Quarterly, Pearl, Portland Review and elsewhere. timmclafferty.com