Pete doesn’t want to play the evening
his father dies, but the show must go on,
and when he swings into the first tune,
looking over at Billy hugging his big bass
like an upright coffin and at Steve rolling
the snare like a muffled satin pillow,
his eyes become misty and autumn does leave.
By the end of the first set, he cuts the body loose.
Barry Peters lives in Durham and teaches in Raleigh, North Carolina. Recent/forthcoming publications include The American Journal of Poetry, Best News Poets 2018, Baltimore Review, Connecticut River Review, The Healing Muse, Jelly Bucket, Miramar, Rattle, South Florida Poetry Journal, The Southampton Review, and Sport Literate.