Poetry By Patrick T. Reardon

Paul Sableman CC



Left

And Jacoba left Carbondale for altitude 
and the Southwest mesas, and she named 
her sons Gestas and Dismas, born fourteen
months apart, like peas in a pod, like honey 
in a comb, like any of a thousand pebbles 
along the side of White Plain Highway, a 
magnitude of multitudes. And they were 
baptized at St. Melville’s Church, out on 
Kingshighway Road, with Joe Nobody and 
Lucy Richardson as godparents, doing 
double duty. And Jacoba was tough but frail.

Once, when she could smell the Pentecost 
wind, she remembered the taste of 
Throckmorton on the mortuary roof.

In those fast food times, Jacoba worked at 
Heaven’s Basement, selling kids clothing 
and Spanish Moon furniture, suitable for 
the whole family, given a bit of latitude. 

She never went back to the Decatur court 
room. She drove her station wagon well 
within the speed limit and always signaled 
her turns.

That season, she sat for her portrait with 
broken eyes, crude and lovely with 
uncomfortable bones, blue veins and red 
tattoos. Denmark didn’t care.

Down the unsettling alley, just west of the 
Skull Place Tap, she attended each 
Saturday night a meeting of the Common 
Table People. Lucy was usually there. 
Sometimes, Joe. She liked the song “Loud 
Proud” and the “Damaged Goods” one. 

That’s where she met Pete All. He 
showed her a photo of a kind of sea 
urchin. The boys liked it.




Patrick T. Reardon, a Chicago Tribune reporter from 1976 to 2009, is the author of eight poetry collections. His latest is a chapbook from Bottlecap Press called New Chicago. His book Every Marred Thing: A Time in America was the winner of the 2024 Faulkner-Wisdom Prize. He is a six-time nominee in poetry for a Pushcart Prize. His poem “Mud” was one of the winners of the 2026 Lost Penny Press Broadside Competition. Reardon’s poetry has appeared in America, RHINO, Commonweal, Long Poem, Blue Unicorn, After Hours, Autumn Sky, Burningword Literary Journal and other journals. His website: patricktreardon.com
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