Departures

M. Kettner, from Issue 5 of Compound Eye

dropped broom in a rhinestone bracelet. coins
separated into piles. dented cigarette case. easy
chair frayed. picture of Jesus upside down.
mantovani from the clock radio, game show on TV,
telephone ringing; windows open, heating on; dog
sleeping, human dead.

trees sway with the wind, old friends. dropped
sleeping pill collecting dust in a corner. clouds,
dabs of porridge. student buckles his belt, waits for
a bus, never returns home again.

back scarred with pockmarks, semi driver not doing so
good at thinking. mistress, her fishhook bent. road
takes him where he goes.

superball that's lost its bounce is given a final toss
into the garbage. it falls in a coffee filter full of
wet grounds, and a banana peel soon after is discarded
on top of them. the three make the trip to the landfill
together, but are separated by a bulldozer scooping
the refuse into giant pits.

on vacation. airport toilet overflowing, restaurants
full. plane late. beaches crowded. purse stolen.
home, a beacon with a burnt-out bulb.