Andrew Terhune

The Creek





I need you

to be


less soothsayer,

more dead grandfather.


Got it.


This is what

the Creek requires.


You lie

just enough


to keep me interested.


Aim truer

old man,


we don’t have

that kind

of time anymore.


The Creek is

still changing,


reflecting murder.


I look for you, 



But that 

ghost is gone.


The Creek 

has folded.


There is no river.


See the sea,



wave goodbye.


The Creek



In the huge rotating world

I take comfort


knowing you are vapor,


non-existent nothing:

This is the Creek.


I reject the reality

that I am always


amongst friends,

always amongst


something all the time.


I move my mouth

like an adult


and I imagine

standing close


to someone,

pretending to kiss.


Our bodies will

never get used to this.


Close enough:

a light will come on.


A light will always come on.


ANDREW TERHUNE is from Memphis, Tennessee. He is the author of the chapbook Helen Mirren Picks Out My Clothes (Greying Ghost Press) and his poems have recently appeared in West Wind ReviewRhinoSixth FinchMeridianDIAGRAM, and Bateau.