August Dust Up

Think of how to end things before beginning,
or better yet, begin at the ending. The plates
have been washed, diurnal clashes quashed.

Picture a summer evening behind a picture
window, gazing at a crimson sunset,
your loved one humming a tune by your side.

Imagine the tune, old timey perhaps, 
or aggressively aleatory, weaving in and out
of the cricket chirr and nightbird warbling

like a spiky ribbon—yellow pinpricks spatter
the black tarpaulin sky, a shooting star
tears through, another; there is no moon.

Soon, the real issue, unaddressed thus far,
will emerge, with its stresses and its claws—
and defense will prove elusive as the tabby

creeping about the summer squash
looking for an evening snack perhaps
or more likely waiting for another cat,

one receptive to its dark advances, or rather,
one far less resistant—in any event,
when the humming stops, so does your heart.

Nose Wide Open

You reached for the branch
without looking at me as I
signalled you to back away,
to veer away from the tree,
where a snake in full makeup
had hit its mark, awaiting a cue.
The sky was blue milk
then darker as you neared
the tree, trembling with
arboreal anticipation.
Such a thing likely never
happened, but one clears
one shipwreck for another.
The snake made its move
lunging, jaws unhinged.
You screamed but fear
paralyzed your legs
and you stood there pegged
for a neck bite. We here
in the real world declare
that your version of the story
suffers from a number
of fixable flaws. Let’s
remember who we were
when we started this thread
and what we will be
after the snake retreats
to the fruitless tree.

Salvatore Difalco lives in Toronto, Canada. He is the author of five small press books, including the story collection ‘Black Rabbit’ (Anvil Press).