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.
Tags:
Poetry