13
copyright 2019 by Michael Walker
We found these dirty pictures
In the woods, behind the doctor's office
Censored by the rain
And cigarette burns
And we snuck them into your
Grandmother's house
Where later, by the TV's blue light
We spread them out
Like pieces of a puzzle...
What could it mean
We tacitly asked
Sitting close together on the sleeping bag.
Is this the treasure
That doesn't seem to be anywhere, anymore?
Under the bridge
Where the minnows swim around cinderblocks
In our fort
Made from discarded doors
In our coffee cans
Full of captured lightning bugs?
What do these terrible pictures
Have to do with us?
What is this country
Of bruises and feral stares?