We'll go canoeing again, my father thought,
dumping the skiff behind our government house.

Armadillo roaches and blissed-out maggots
thrived under its dome. The earth grew danker

and more infested with each undisturbed year.
When I lifted it, I left a crime scene outline

around spongy ground. Bugs held each other
in squirming piles. Their sky turned star white,

the world lost its orbit. I almost stomped them,
a first instinct to destroy the unusual.

Instead, I fled to my cool room, imagining God
splitting the roof, pressing down with greasy fingers.

Volume 1, Issue 2, 2007