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The Dark




The Dark

 

 

The middle of the highway

at noon

 

The stench of oil lingers

on the air     you can feel

 

the strangeness of neighbors

bore holes through your body.

 

Hold your hands knuckle-white

and tell the truth of your sameness.

 

Copper sunlight

crosses intersections;

 

a couple holds hands

while another scrapes up fury.

 

The sun sets in silver,

everyone afraid of the dark.

 

  

David Bankson

 
 

David Bankson was finalist in the 2017 Concīs Pith of Prose and Poem, and his poetry and microfiction can be found in concis, (b)oink, Thank You for Swallowing, Artifact Nouveau, Riggwelter Press, Five 2 One Magazine, etc. He lives in Texas.

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