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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)   
418
   Tamsin Gray, ravendave and SPT
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