Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2016
My brother’s in the army;
my sister’s in Detroit.
Momma lost the lottery;
Daddy’s in the joint.

The abattoir is empty;
the kitchen smells like steak.
The cows are off in dreamland,
but the butcher is awake.

The dogs are in the garbage
snapping over bones.
The garden is a sinkhole
choking on its stones.

The furniture’s on fire;
my heart’s a trampoline.
Once a week I wash the floor
with blood and gasoline.

There’s liquor in the freezer
and a hatchet in the shed.
I always clean my fingernails
but forget to make the bed.
Jonathan Witte
Written by
Jonathan Witte  East of Georgia Avenue
(East of Georgia Avenue)   
424
   Tamsin Gray, ravendave and SPT
Please log in to view and add comments on poems