Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
The Dead Town
Kristine Ong Muslim
The elders had painted mouths and doll eyes.
The children would not wash their hands.
The dogs had lost their tails. The alley cats
were bigger than most of the men in town.
All the walls, the roads, the hedges were dressed
in light. The drunk swaggered home each night.
Television static crackled in the house of the
blind. Night lamps were turned on. Then off.
About Kristine Ong Muslim