The Dublin Mine
Deer crowd the chalk slicks
to drink the washout after a blast,
the potter’s glaze, mineral bilge,
anything for the tannic burn
of an acorn. The white dirt. I ate it all the time,
just to get a rise out of you. In Georgia,
hot sheeting rain and a big hydraulic pump
make bore hole pools that are blue in the day.
They drown fawns, but the coyotes
will drag them out. You could hang
from your elbows with your chin above the water.
Your hips kept floating up. In the winter
I broke a lock to back the Civic in
and warm the pool
with a fixer-tailpipe. We came
for weeks. No one in Dublin knew.
You worried it was too much.
You’re becoming like the deer,
half-sunk and silent. Desperate.
We see them watching even now.
Stephen Hundley is the author of The Aliens Will Come to Georgia First (University of North Georgia Press, 2023) and Bomb Island (Hub City Press, 2024). His work has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Carve, Cream City Review, The Greensboro Review, and elsewhere. He holds an MA from Clemson, an MFA from the University of Mississippi, and is currently completing a PhD in English at Florida State University.