Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-seven
Spring 2015
Michael N. Thompson

I keep it buried
like a land mine
in the Sinai desert

Vapor trails are hard to follow
from 800 miles away
and that’s no accident

Mama says nothing
as if the ghost of this
will disappear if left alone

I crack a joke
so nobody sees
the blade that slices

All of this fills me with more disappointment
than passing every rest area
during a road trip

The empty spaces are filled
trawling old photo albums for a mere glimpse
like beachcombers for shells

A true captain
would go down
with his ship

Boys of twelve
have better things to do
than sit around waiting for you

About Michael N. Thompson

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