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Trout This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

On the way to my grandfather's funeral,
We hit only green lights.
Pop-pop's hands felt like a pair of dead fish
flopping over his black suit.
I knelt over the casket to pray
that one prayer our CCD teacher, Mrs. Cazinski, had made us recite.
The one with the chin mole
and the annoying daughter
and the heaving breasts.
We stopped to eat at the way home and
my sister ordered fish and chips
and the basket was full of hands
so I did not eat my soup.
On the way home my mother got her second DUI.
A police radio made static while
it began to gently sprinkle
and I counted teardrops rolling down the face
of the basset hound I drew with my pinky finger on the window.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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