Humble Endings

I had a Bible once, but I misplaced it somewhere,
begging the empty space between me
and the future to hurry up, and hurry up it did.
Now, the cellar door is open, but so is the one leading
to the stairs, to the kitchen where this place gets dangerous,
the entire first floor a wild zoo, though everyone is trying,
the bears bathe in the sink, the coyote in the cupboard
keeps barking like a house dog, and the junkie on the movie screen
cuts himself with a razor, trying to shave off his beard, tired of being
a loner, wanting to go home, he thinks, by airplane, by horse, by cadillac.
No one is leaving, I can assure you this. The hurricane, the radio said
is coming, grows louder, but no one seems worried, this house safe like
a deep canyon. The wind enters the open windows, ruffling the feathers
of the birds lining the hall, the smog seeping in the cracks where the carpet
meets the wall, as someone in the attic stomps on the floor like a rock n’ roll
band. As a child, I was only allowed to listen to Christian quartets, more than
that, the voices just became noise mother said. But now, I can see how
America the beautiful, everyone can see it: the museum down the block
still has the needle Betsy Ross used to sew the flag from pure pure animal flesh.

Tyler Gobble currently studies at Ball State University. He is an intern with The Collagist and will soon be joining the staff of The Broken Plate. My poems or reviews have been published by or are forthcoming from Otoliths, Breadcrumbs Scab, and Mad Swirl among other places.

Something Spooky:
I google image searched “something spooky.” This was hit one. Woah.