Track 10 of Lucy Dacus’ Home Video

by Jacob Hatfield

reminds of the time in your car when you claimed Lucy Dacus was more than an indie musician, she’s an academic and hot as hell. You’d give her the moon even if you knew she’d throw it right back at you. This is how most days go: we stare at the dried flowers tied with twine hung on your rearview mirror, listening only to the most deprecating indie music of all time for an hour, always skipping 8 am statistics. Today, though, you turn down the dial and say your diagnosis has ruined you. This is something I’ve prepared for album after album, so I know to suggest, maybe get a dog. And the dog you get is good for a day, but God does he turn. He bites that old dachshund living in your mother’s home. Something in you regrets the dog, but you can’t give him up; he relies on you. You regret listening to me. But when you drive him to the park, windows down, blasting “Please Stay” like it’s a summer hit you think maybe it’s not too bad, but then

he bites

and he bites

and he bites.

And I don’t dare to ever give you another piece of advice,

so in the car, we play Track 10

and you sing

waiting for teeth to break skin.

Jacob Hatfield

Jacob Hatfield is a poet writing out of Middle Tennessee. When he's not sitting on a bench in some random park thinking about writing poetry, he's staring at the ceiling fan with his dog's head perched on his legs.