A
world's disappearing.
Little
street,
You
were too narrow,
Too
much in the shade already.
You
had only one dog,
One
lone child.
You
hid your biggest mirror,
Your
undressed lovers.
Someone
carted them off
In
an open truck.
They
were still naked, travelling
On
their sofa
Over
a darkening plain,
Some
unknown Kansas or Nebraska
With
a storm brewing.
The
woman opening a red umbrella
In
the truck. The boy
And
the dog running after them,
As
if after a rooster
With
its head chopped off.
As kids we'd blow chicken heads off with cherry bombs, but that was in Iowa too and I must try harder to stick to my birth and neighbour state.
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