Boy Death Girl Death

by John Grey

It doesn’t matter if the volcano explodes.
The harm is done.
It makes you aware
you’ve a dangerous imagination,
an even more dangerous world.
And now, with your crumpled hand raised:
it’s market day
it’s hot sex
and you can’t tell the difference.
No it’s not sex
but a rare jazz record
tucked under the arm
(what gods do for a living.
blurs as you whiz by)
landing for a moment here or there
thieving beggars, talking toads and, worst of all,
life like a pebble in the next.
lids pressed down on thunder,
as no surface is enough for them.
Headlines: little boy and girl devourers.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Midwest Quarterly, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in South Florida Poetry Journal, Hawaii Review and Roanoke Review.