The Porch by Julia Cohen

Sparklers burning the barn down and it’s all smoky on my arm

We piggyback ten kids across the lawn to water the plants and rearrange attachments

We’ve never found a four-leaf clover so keep looking for slave toys near the graveyard

Bury your beard on the porch where first I found it

I admit I wanted you dead so I could mourn properly

There’s a mannequin on the neighbor’s roof and helicopters are mosquitoes

that will never save its life

Please bury me in the beehive it’s hot in here and I’m useless and used to it

The miscellaneous mash of moonshine with the reluctant

Bullfrogs burp the alphabet close by and these are the sacks of insects hatching

Plants and the kids that watch them place larva on the grindstone

Keep saving allowance for the carnival that comes in spring

The fire trees ring the crops and pitchforks stake out like-minded mountains

Bury your beard on the porch where first I found it

What slips through the screen door does not even touch the entrapment

by Julia Cohen, published in H_NGM_N #7



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