The Toothbrush Vanguard
by John Gabriel Adkins

HTOOD staring into bathroom sink with hands on sinksides he knew some thing could not be taken back, some smallthing and his brother had threw a glass, and his brother was very sad. Said to his brother You could use my guest room till things are sorted out. Very bad. Everyone had told him Don't mention the ugly business. Everyone had told him What if it breaks the camel? He had broke the camel.
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This intensity under beaming,
broad, delicate time—unearthed,
we are in a jagged paradise.

Verse 1

“Come along, come along,” said the first 'louseman.

“Get down on your knees,” said the second.

Derek dropped and conceived of the cecet've bomb.

Cleaning out my desk for the first time in twenty years, I found the seed packet. The seeds had sprouted at some point and there was dark earth, scattered inside the paper pouch that held them, and in the musty papers in the drawer where they’d been sitting all this time.

Is this the way
It was done, uncle

Ernest, back in
Your day?

The moment I’ve been waiting all these years to slide
Into my rucksack encompasses me like bent light
On the verge of avalanche. Its weight pushes against

The memory faded to a tiny ball, then loses potency

the wail of a hymn:
leaves blow, interceding between
the pews where Jacob confides in the LORD,
his and his and ours, the sun
rising over tired worship.
there is the smell of spider shit
from the lawn, where children
build a Promise, streams of
youth wetting appetites for
faith, and, the church itself, a holy
propitiation, with plasterpeel
walls covered in fading
crayon scribbles (Belteshazzar! who reads
a child’s scrawl!) time passes.