Killer Domestic: ‘Disintegration’

September 18, 2013

Note: This poem is part of a larger project entitled Killer Domestic, an examination of the unusual and unfounded perils of suburbia.

 

When the moon shines bright and bloated

Like an uncle at Thanksgiving, the tree line on the street

Becomes a ridge of waves, jagged and perfect.

The fullest moon on Ironstone tonight bathes

Cars in spotlight sheen and makes you wrench

And yearn as hot as heartbreak

For the swimming past, the 1 a.m. curfews

In your car idling in the slanted driveway

Talking until the motion light quits, then

Gesturing it on again as we sit

And disintegrate to ’80s guitars

Which, feather-light, begin to feather us

Into lovesick adults slowly crushed

And sprawled and piled until we eventually

Topple

And the jukebox moon inserts itself again

Into the evening sky. Just kids

To see the glow and hear the quiet roar.

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