Alexis Rhone Fancher | Accustomed To Dead Kids | Poets Resist

Alexis Rhone Fancher is published in Best American Poetry, Rattle, Hobart, Verse Daily, The New York Times, The MacGuffin, Plume, Tinderbox, Diode, Nashville Review, Wide Awake, Poets Of Los Angeles, Anomaly, Cleaver, Glass, Rust + Moth, and elsewhere. Her books include: How I Lost My Virginity to Michael Cohen & other heart stab poems, State of Grace: The Joshua Elegies, Enter Here, and Junkie Wife. Her chapbook, The Dead Kid Poems, publishes in 2019. Alexis has been published in over 50 anthologies, including the best-selling Nasty Women Poets (Lost Horse Press, 2017) and Antologia di poesia femminile americana contemporanea, (Edizioni Ensemble, Italia, 2018). A multiple Pushcart Prize, Best Short Fiction, and Best of the Net nominee, Alexis is poetry editor of Cultural Weekly.

Alexis Rhone Fancher’s Website.

Also by Alexis Rhone Fancher: Junkie Wife Enter Here State of Grace: The Joshua Elegies How I Lost My Virginity To Michael Cohen and other heart stab poems

Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: I Was Hovering Just Below the Hospital Ceiling, Contemplating My Death My Body is a Map of Scars

Poets Resist
Edited by Samantha Duncan
March 28, 2019

Alexis Rhone Fancher

Accustomed To Dead Kids

sung to the Tune of Lerner & Lowe’s “Accustomed To Her Face” from My Fair Lady 1. I’ve grown accustomed to dead kids, they almost make the day begin. I’ve grown accustomed to the latest locked down campus on TV, the thoughts, the prayers, the no one really cares are second nature to me now, like breathing out and breathing in. I’ve grown accustomed to the sound of gunfire zinging through the air, the kid who shoots his classmates in his impotent despair. I’ve grown accustomed to their screams, the ending of their dreams, accustomed to dead kids. 2. I’ve grown accustomed to the sobs, of parents frantic as they call. I’ve grown accustomed to the terror when their children don’t respond, the pleas, the cries, unsaid goodbyes are second nature to me now, like breathing out and breathing in. I’ve grown accustomed to the anguish, when they learn their child is dead, hit in the aorta of their heart or in their head. I’ve grown accustomed to the thought: guns matter, kids do not, accustomed to dead kids. 3. I’ve grown accustomed to the lies, the gutless thoughts and hollow prayers. I’ve grown accustomed to the rants the NRA and no we cant’s, the maimed, the dead, the platitudes instead are second nature to me now, like breathing out and breathing in. I’ve grown accustomed to deceit, — blame backpacks, Ritalin, or God, never will the truth be told, it’s just too goddamn hard. I’ve grown accustomed to the game, politicians with no shame, accustomed to dead kids.