Poetry

By

John Grey

X RATED

This is not a horror movie.

It’s a traffic accident.

There are no monsters

just burnt-out, charred remains

of flesh and metal.

No loathsome phoenix

rising from the ashes,

only desolate remains.

There are ghouls

but they’re just the ones

who slowed down

for a better view

of someone else’s tragedy.

If you are one of those,

take a peek in the rear view mirror.

That’s the show right there.

YOU’RE IN THE ARMY NOW

young man

from the bayou

of Louisiana,

shaving for only a year or two –

lugging a gun

through dusty streets

of a town

on the outskirts of a desert –

every face

a cross between fear and malice,

every sudden noise,

the last sound he could hear –

if he makes it out alive

he’ll have years and years

ahead of him

to imagine that he didn’t.

John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and the anthology, No Achilles with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review and Nebo.