John Sweet

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City Shells by Kristin Fouquet

these days, wasted

like lions in the desert she says
but the truth is less obvious

find the point of entry,
and then name it

bugs everywhere, and mold, and rot

roads paved and then cracked
and then paved again

doesn’t signify anything, but it should,
and so you drive 200 miles in a
car with no shocks, no radio,
no windshield wipers, and arrive just
in time to clean up the blood from
the bathroom floor

you ask the child where his
mother is, and all he does is cry

every true story ends with the
death of someone’s dreams

More about Kristin Fouquet

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