Silver Streams Issue 3 - Page 6

Delightful Night

It’s rather stormy tonight. Whitecaps curl, plunge,

and smash against granite, while coastal fog glows

in oncoming headlights. Cannery Row practically

a ghost town until the tourists return tomorrow.

This is one of those slick winter nights when I can

cannibalize. I’m a leviathan on the hunt, out after

egregious jackhammers destroying our monuments.

I seek respite from the kleptocratic mumbo jumbo.

There is a certain kind of pain, a dross that invades

the likes of those tiny baby white bats known

to quiver, huddled together, and in total darkness

bursting clear through time’s barriers, its hymen.

- Thomas Piekarski

Failing You

Your scream, daughter,

the morning you found me floored,

never leaves me.

I can do nothing here:

open my beak when the woman in white

pushes four tablets into my mouth,

open my beak the times when you, daughter,

present lovingly-made home-cooks on a spoon.

After visiting hours

I look out the window:

all Fibre Optics – Santa and Snowmen

and further up

the gradient of city lights stretching.

I stretch in the bed again, daughter,

await your morning visit.

- Noel King