Sneaking Into Monster Jam

We didn’t really “sneak
into Monster Jam.” We had tickets, four
            of them—me, my parents, their friend Lisa

who died a few years back.
            She used to live in this trailer
down a heavily-wooded driveway

            & had a lot of pets,
including a red dog named Red Dog that I swear
            was 35 years old. When my father

started making wine,
            the first grapes he used were the muscadines
that grew on Lisa’s fence. Anyway,

            monster trucks—
we got free pit passes from Diamond Shamrock
            which let you go out on the floor

& meet the drivers before. But
            the problem was you had two hours
to meet them all, & the line

            for Grave Digger was so long.
We’d have spent the whole time
            waiting, missed all the others,

so afterward, my mother said
            she was going to get me that final
autograph. I’m not sure how

            it all happened—she said
to follow her & we weaved our way
            to the Astrodome floor, talked past

security guards until we got down there,
            surrounded by the trucks,
the smell of exhaust heavy over everything. But

            here’s the thing—we ended up where
we wanted, but didn’t actually manage
            to get that autograph. Just stood

in the dirt for a few minutes
            until someone came over
& told us to leave.

Justin Carter is the author of Brazos (Belle Point Press). His poems have appeared in Bat City Review, The Journal, Sonora Review, and other spaces. Originally from the Texas Gulf Coast, Justin currently lives in Iowa and works as a sports writer and editor.