Clay Ventre
Ultimo
then the sun exploded
and we all had about
eight minutes
and all the traffic cops
un-crossed their arms
and stopped looking the same
parking lots were in a frenzy
and all the animals
zigzagged every-which-a-way
then they all hit-the-dip
and all the insects
laughed their tiny
insect laughs
strippers found modesty
and some priests thought
God would be a good idea
but God with infinite
indecisiveness
took that forever
to make up his mind
and words were
as grappling-hooks
in everyone's throats
and the sick-sighed and
the mad came out of their
trees— stood
with point-of-finger at me
and i'm backed-off the edge
of the world
again
I was standing next to a random dog outside a tobacco store. A woman hands me an old flip phone, saying it’s for me, then walks away. I say hello into the phone and someone’s yelling back in angry Russian. The phone went dead within seconds, there was no one to give it back to, so I kept it. I never saw that dog again.
Clay Ventre lives in Salem, Massachusetts.