Dan Nygard
I tore open
an old lawn chair,
sat, heard its cracked weaving,
drank his beer
sitting where
driveway concrete
bordered gravel.
He was dying;
he would die
three months later:
his heart, his liver
worn down to the nub
and I guess I knew it
that evening,
how it would happen
it hit me
in the same way
some evenings
the leaves of the ash tree
become more distinct.
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Dan Nygard’s poems have appeared in Read This, Main Channel Voices, and Love Child. Also, his photograph “Bonanzaville, U.S.A.” has appeared in this magazine.