Tuesday, August 2, 2016


This prompt was to write something about stuffing a wound with an unusual object.  So I came out with this little poem.


He had a hole in his chest. Large enough
to drive a semi-truck of dead bodies through.
Gasping for air. Eyes twitching back
and forth back and forth like some kind of burnt demonic baby doll.
Blood spurting as a surgeon operating on a pregnant woman
with blood and breast milk spraying everywhere.
Children laughing and playing in the blood fountain.
Hopscotch and jumping rope to nursery rhymes. Splashing
blood puddles in each others faces.
Playing kick the can with his head.
Their giggles are like knives slicing at an artery
around my neck.
I grabbed hold of one of the children and shoved them into the hole.
Then shoved another and another.
They kicked and screamed but I shoved them in anyway.
I could see them inside the hole begging to get out. Their mouths
wide with fear as I took out my needle and veins and stitched up the hole
I gave them kisses and told them good night.
Sleep tight.
His rib-cage bouncing as they punched at his inner walls.
Begging to get out.
Haaaa. No way Jose. Snooze you lose I say.
The blood fountain stopped.
The man thanked me.
I said you're very welcome. Then I whacked
him in the head and knocked him out,
I threw him over my shoulder and carried him to the trunk
of my car and closed the lid like I was closing the lid of his coffin. Except
I wasn't going to let him die. Cause
him and I have special dinner arrangements tonight.
I don't know how many times I got to tell
those heathen brats to leave my bodies alone.

No comments: