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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