Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Six 2004 |
We Rubbernecks Alana Merritt Mahaffey At the Y. At the Y where you take Hwy 25 North right or keep Hwy 65 to the left. The left turns are impossible. Seven years later the man is leaning across the front seat. She is dead. He’s reaching to find her hands. She is cupping her intestines close to her body. His eyes are dead moons. They move like spotlights. He is pushing intestines into her. He is reading her skin like braille. |
About Alana Merritt Mahaffey |