KJ

Can’t say yet. Working on it hard.
This time I’m so full of strangeness.
Still I see the neighbor mom parting
the lips of fat, wailer Jr. in the wood
chair to bury the dog food chunks.
Dad will want to play catch tonight.

The boy stands near him. Dad has
learned to throw the ball high up to
give the boy a chance to get under
the meteoric ball. It is not the same.
I start a hack into my shirt. My hand
comes away with what feels like sea salt.
There is a problem with this, I feel.
If only I could have the cherry tree
of my childhood back, then there
would be no more spying on the
lives of others; I always go close.

My first time was unforgettable.
I, so full of disorientation, waited
in the roominghouse. My nose:
a poor drying rack for the dune
of yellowy sick that scrabbled in
a flurry of hot fits up my slack

throat. They brought the body
in its priceless rigor mortis. The
first munch being hardest; a cult
member held the bathroom door.
Nothing yet. No runny nose at all.

I remember thinking to myself:
What base would cannibalism be?
I started to laugh at my own inner
joke: an inside-the park home run.
Seeing green when it gets late. Yet
these binoculars do not have night

vision. Boy, I sure would…I would
love playing catch with those two.
Would they notice my being so
full of strangeness? I do have a
brand-new, brown, leather glove.

KJ lives in Orange County with a dog named Mr. Bear. He has work forthcoming in decomp, Yellow Mama, and Oysters and Chocolate. Find his blog that wants followers here.