Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nineteen Spring 2009 |
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divorce Michael Homolka the house tripped and fell and bled all over everything when I was ten it bled until I was eleven and then again till I was twelve I heard a movie producer bought it a while ago and lives there with his family a few months out of the year the house was always so clumsy on its tiny stilts it had a laugh like goofy’s my mother had a laugh like goofy’s I drive by sometimes just to see if it’s still bleeding and snicker that it is good let the new owners deal with it though at the end of the block turning onto the boulevard I understand the blood is invisible to them and the house only bleeds when I go back to look |
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About Michael Homolka |