At the town dump, a girl has lifted her dress for a thick, blurred-apart man. He pushes her onto a moldy mat beside a rusted-out water heater. By the pond, a pile of dead piranha has washed ashore. A boy rips out a jaw and straps it with fishing line to an unhewn stick. A tree has fallen onto the cable television company. The streets are full of people no one would expect, in the manner of streets. Bored. Happy. Looking up and down, figuring out who to press or whom to let press. In a window covered by smudged sunlight, a naked woman with fat breasts is cutting the tentacles off a boiled octopus. Under a tree, itâ€™s raining. A lost toddler is clutching a stuffed dog to his body and he is soaked and weeping quietly. A siren far from any road twirls like a kicked fruitcake.
James Grinwis Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2019, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|