The peeps you'd bought were chirping in the box.
The groundhog lied again. You'd left to buy
beer, bread and chipped ham. It was Easter Sunday.
Bells from a dozen churches filled the air
in this small steel town where the unemployed
perpetually keep beer gardens open.
You'd yelled: "Yunz better worsh them dishes
and redd up things before yunz go outside."
You said you'd had enough of eating jumbo
and food stamps didn't make a difference.
We didn't know you'd go by way of Altoona,
that you'd go ghost on mommy and us kids.
You left behind a bloodstain in your truck,
the lasting memory of onion snow.
-- Leo Yankevich
Leo Yankevich, a writer from Farrell in Mercer County, lives in Gliwice, Poland, where he works as a translator. He is poetry editor of The New Formalist ( www.formalpoetry.com ). His poetry has appeared in Chronicles, The Tennessee Review and the University of Windsor Review.