Lovers in a Dangerous Time
The earth rolled toward the sun. Some birds thought it a sign they should
thrash and caw. Open the window, close it. Because I am reactionary, I will
wait for bathrobed neighbours to water their lawns.
“You say you know nothing.”
“Where is this coming from before bacon?”
“Never said it would be pleasant.”
At cross purposes, we never know where the conversation will take
us. For now the nook demands our presence as the bacon sings its song.
“Ever wonder where the plastic jockeys went?”
“What do you mean? Were they a thing?”
“Like plastic flamingos.”
“I liked those. Not garden gnomes.”
“Name your favorite breakfast cereal.”
“Hm, Count Chocula.”
Whenever I feel like spitting out the truth my lips go dry and then I feel
as though I must lick them instead of saying what is pressing up behind the
teeth. If we were all married to the truth, we’d find ourselves living in a city
full of liars.
“People make me sick.”
“In general, yes, but particular cases hold more gravity.”
“I disagree completely, but never let me go.”
Salvatore Difalco‘s work has appeared in a variety of print and online formats. He splits his time between Toronto and Sicily.