Thursday, February 25, 2016


At midnight, over the murmur of the wind, a knock at the door jolts us awake. It's a Roman centurion, in full regalia, but he's read the house number wrong, we're not who he's looking for. As he prepares to depart a ball of flame whooshes up from his chariot's gas lantern. A tarantula climbs up the window-screen.

In the morning, gulls, flown inland for shelter, dot the soccer field.

1 comment:

dunnham said...

I enjoy a touch of surrealism.