Today by Lou Gallo
I stand beside the Forester between
its door and interior as I wait for my daughters
to return from inside the pharmacy
where they will be administered their second doses
We had broken out the old iPod and at this moment
Aerosmith’s “Walking in the Sand” blasts from the speakers.
What ever happened to that girl that I once knew . . .
To my right across the street a chaos of buzzards
tears into the flesh of a dead groundhog
as church gongs from the steeple to my left,
the sinister path, resound,
rippling the very air and drowning out
all other sounds in the neighborhood. The buzzards
couldn’t care less and seem to be dancing
to a song I once uploaded onto my iPod
as they finish off the remains of the rodent
that has now practically disappeared
as if had never existed, as if had never lived.
Something both profane and holy
here at once—
A vulture Eucharist . . . take and eat.
When we’re done we take a spin up Prospect
to gaze at the house where Cat and I once lived
before we married
seems like the other day
before the girls were born, before now.
I thought it important to show the house to them
although I cannot explain why.
A bit of history here, a bit there,
the way things vanish and yet remain.
How we devour the entrails of the past.
Four volumes of Louis Gallo’s poetry, Archaeology, Scherzo Furiant, Crash and Clearing the Attic, are now available. Why is there Something Rather than Nothing? and Leeway & Advent will be published soon. His work appears in Best Short Fiction 2020. A novella, “The Art Deco Lung,” will soon be published in Storylandia. He is the recipient of an NEA grant for fiction. He teaches at Radford University in Radford, Virginia.