The sun slowly sets and the streetlights turn on while
I sit at the kitchen table, trying to take one step away
From the fire and brimstone storm next door.
Sitting next to me is my father and a saltshaker,
He douses his roast beef with it and digs in ferociously.

Last night while I was standing on my front lawn a man
Wearing blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt approached.
He had a friendly demeanor and dragged on listlessly
Whistling a familiar tune, difficult to place.
Walking right up to me, the mysterious creature put his
Hand on the back of my neck and we began to grapple.
Struggling to keep my strength I was thrown to the ground.
His force couldn’t keep me down for long, I got him under me
And pinned him down for a short minute until he mustered
All his strength to push me off and we were on our feet again.
Eight hours passed and one had not overtaken the other
Until with a slight twist he popped my right leg out of place.
I said thank you and proceeded to sit on my front lawn,
Injured by myself.