Bob and Natalie
The ancient couple
sat together at the far end
of the table,
not speaking, not moving,
faces crumbling,
skin sloughed from
slumped limbs,
rotting clothes
threaded with spider webs.
Together in life,
now they’re together
in death.
The former was indicative
of the great love
they had for each other.
The latter was my idea.
The Thing in the Cellar
It lies outstretched in a coffin
in the basement of an old house,
chill clinging to ashen skin,
its breath shallow, turgid.
Surrounding webs
strangle insects.
A black cat bursts a mouse
with its jaw.
One predator in the midst
and even the snails are inspired
to gnaw on the chained cadavers.
It's still and sated.
A virgin's life
courses its veins
like a rat through
a python's intestine.
In the Butcher Shop
Can't believe that about Slim
even when he used to scream out
the names of people he hated
as he swung the cleaver down hard
on the side of pork.
What about that terrible look in his eye
when he decapitated chickens
Or the burst of horrible glee
when blood sprouted from the turkey's breast
A vegetarian, who'd have thought it
I always figured Slim for a serial killer
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Sheepshead Review. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and California Quarterly.
Comments