Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nineteen Spring 2009 |
Emily, It’s Better This Way Christopher Citro They landed in the morning and nothing happened. It was six hours before the hatch split. When finally they emerged, we strained to see faces, but their helmet visors were mirrored— we looked and pointed and saw ourselves. The spacemen lumbered out, bounced around on the lawn like great big children in silver snow suits, dancing in slow motion. Then the sirens blew and we knew the tornadoes were coming. The sky went green and we headed for cover. The last person to see the spacemen was Emily. Before ducking into the shelter, she looked back and saw one begin to lift off into the sky. Another spaceman tried to hold that one down, but he lost his footing and both of them shot into angry clouds. |
About Christopher Citro |