Monday Jun 24

TuckerSethBrady Seth Brady Tucker is a poet and writer from Lander, Wyoming. He teaches fiction and poetry at the Lighthouse Writers Workshop in Denver and volunteer teaches inmates for a literacy program at the Limon Correctional Facility. His fiction and poetry have won numerous awards, most recently the Bevel Summers Fiction Prize from Shenandoah, and his work has recently appeared in the Iowa Review, StorySouth, Chattahoochee Review, and the Asheville Poetry Review.


The Mexican Car Wash

None of them think    
about what it means
to be rubbing terry-cloth
hand towels over shining
Mercedes bumpers, or Lexus
tires, wiping down leather
Acura seats until the smell
of sweat is gone, until next
time. Only the cash matters—

I can see it in his dark eyes
rimmed with blood from
the sun—his hatred for us,
his bloodlust. But he keeps
wiping hoods down with both
hands, all day long, for
a check, a ticket out of here.

I am supposedly another rich
American to him—he, a
sunburned and unwashed
Mexican, just up for the work,
not, like me, another dumb
animal waiting for the
humiliation of payment, or
worse, a tip. When I pay him
and tip him (too much) I am

embarrassed by my own height,
the color of my hair, shamed
by the health of my skin,
the house keys in my pocket,
and my own stupid luck
for owning a nice car I like
to see clean.

The Girl Living in Her Accord

This cute twenty year old girl
is living in her yellow Accord
down the street from me; she
parks under the ponderosa pines
in an alley next to our park, and
by the way she acts you would
swear she is everyone’s best
friend—the long hugs and kisses
on cheeks and the borrowing
of money. She lets her little
sweet thong hang out of her
ultra-stylish expensive denim jeans,
and she begs off at least two
dollars a day from me even
though I catch her thumbing
through her new textbooks at the
local coffee shop, and I know
she takes notes on her iPad
and that she logs onto the internet
with a new MacBook via a wireless
connection that old lecher
Mr. Davis has hooked her into—
but the thing is, she is young,
and she doesn’t take care of herself,
and she uses my cell phone every
time she sees me for “emergencies,”
and I dream of her walking up
the steps to my house someday
to stay for the night.