Where the Devil Lives

 

Wichita.

Hot summer

after first grade.

I hear

“Ghost Riders

in the Sky,”

ride dreams on

devil-horses

over clouds.

 

Look at the neighbor’s

book of hell —

demons boil people

in big pots.

 

Lying on the floor

pet Sweet Alice,

our white cat,

to see what

she sees.

 

Kids drop

Sweet Alice

into a tall box.

Can’t get out.

 

This summer

Sweet Alice

disappears.

 

Published by

sanberdooboy

I've been writing mostly poetry for many years and have gotten a number of works accepted in publications and anthologies. I'm most interested in communicating with poets for whom craft is a high priority. I enjoy finding and commenting on poetic gems in other people's work. For my own work, I welcome polite comments, whether positive or critical.

10 thoughts on “Where the Devil Lives”

  1. Reminds me of images from Cormac McCarthy crossed with Terence Malick’s “Days of Heaven.” Something dark lurking beneath the bright heat: that casual violence of childhood, the unreadable nature of cats. Nice piece.

    Liked by 1 person

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