Amand Garnet Ruffo

Pages: 1 2 3 4

In The Yard of the Haunted House

 

In the yard of the haunted house,

broken winos yell through broken windows.

Sharp mouths

and bodies like punctured balloons

sputtering air,

zigzagging along the ground

like they don’t belong anywhere.

 

Behind the abandoned yard, hedges the height of trees,

a blaze of pods and yellow petals.

Where those of us brave enough

catch bees on sunny Saturdays.

Snap jar lids over them,

lock them behind glass,

holding the sting

to our ears.

 

I can still see him, uncle broken man.

Dark head out the smashed window

while I keep my own head down,

keep to the far side of the road,

do my best to ignore him.

As he shouts

“I know you!”

Shouts his word arrows

through me.

 

Some tire of the game,

open the lid of their jar and run for their lives.

Others forget or neglect and let the busy sounds melt

inside the glass, while some

maliciously blow cigarette smoke

into the punctured top

to comatose

their helpless captives.

 


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