Martedì 30 Nov 2010, 16:13

Angels at Their Posts

Michael sneaked up in a jovial mood toward his coworker.
What if there are monsters? he teased in brotherly fashion.
He punched the clock and began turning the knob to his locker.
What if there aren't? Apollo turned confidently. Falsely. Cautiously
unfastening his armor, busying himself in undoing his daily duties and preparing for play in the night not really night in the city of cities.
Michael furrowed his brow and stared at him.
Their eyes met for a millisecond that dragged
memories of off-nights at the pub since the beginning of infinity across
an infinity of its own the odor of mercy.
They both cocked their wings, peering
into a masterful arrangement of celestial fire and ice, alert
to the silence one can find in a village yet naive to the morning sun.
I'm scared, whispered Michael into the precise everything.

American Junior High Gothic

The riot in hell was disheartening,
but not in a scary dream way.
Sure, heads were on backwards,
but where was the real evil?
The reason,
the spit,
the rot,
the conversations about what we will tell
our kids about sex when we grow up?

© Stephen Norman, 2010