138 Pieces

I wrote this yesterday under the influence of twin tornadoes
While hiding under the bed with my grandmother and dog
I planned a funeral as mattresses, pans and medicines strafed the air
I saw my brother’s arm impaled on a jagged rafter
The grey-green sky draped like humid laundry above
I heard telephone poles snap in succession like cannon fire
Fred, from next door, called for Annie as he flew by among the shingles and sharp detritus
A dishwasher smashed into my one remaining bedroom wall
Splintered it in 138 pieces, and disappeared into that toothy vortex…

“Boys had nothing better to do than to hold onto their dreams with what they didn’t yet realize was desperation.”

— Matthew Salesses / I’m Not Saying, I’m Just Saying