| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3368 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention The Watcher Graeme Mullen I. What’s on his mind? See that gathering of wild dreamers? They’d topple these tall buildings down, let the savannah grow back. They’d leave for the coast. But somewhere on a rooftop, the watcher grunts behind a uniform of cool khaki. He has a starched mind, he is jealous— a plain-skinned warthog whose eyes freeze shut from staring at the mottles of giraffe, and snake, and fowl. II. What’s in his mouth? Cigarsmoke wraps his teeth, mist on icecaps. He never inhales. Below, their lungs grow wet with nicotine from his boss’s billboard. You know the one. The beach is snow colored. The girl has arctic blue eyes. It would all melt under that sun. Behind the girl’s tanned hips there’s a slash of warthog tusk. You thought it was the stem of an umbrella? Look closer. Not even our dreams are safe any more. |
