✷
The heavy branches over the roof groan
in the wind, sagging lower every day.
It is just my luck that one snaps and
cleaves the house in two like a yardstick
slicing birthday cake. It is just my luck
that the branch breaks the ground open
and a horde of hairless pink rodents pours
from the crack and ravages the landscape.
They reduce me to a skeleton in seconds
and then it is just my luck that they fuck
and make so many more rodents the world
is up to its eyeballs in pink squirming.
I still hear the groaning, even without ears.
in the wind, sagging lower every day.
It is just my luck that one snaps and
cleaves the house in two like a yardstick
slicing birthday cake. It is just my luck
that the branch breaks the ground open
and a horde of hairless pink rodents pours
from the crack and ravages the landscape.
They reduce me to a skeleton in seconds
and then it is just my luck that they fuck
and make so many more rodents the world
is up to its eyeballs in pink squirming.
I still hear the groaning, even without ears.
✷
Dan Wiencek is a poet, critic and humorist who lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and whose work has appeared in Sou’wester, New Ohio Review, Timberline Review, Carve and other publications. His first collection of poems, Routes Between Raindrops, was published by First Matter Press in 2021.
Website: danwiencek.net
Bluesky: @thatdanw.bsky.social
Website: danwiencek.net
Bluesky: @thatdanw.bsky.social
