Crowd Forming a Mob

Before the egg shop closed
she was going down
the road to block a hollow.

To fit an egg was tough.
She already was knocked
up with swollen knuckles.

After the shock wore off,
folks rolled back their sleeves
and shook romantic gestures at her,

unlocked their jaws
to force more room
for foreign bodies.

The adults raised mocking
kids, disbelieving
in other things and people.

Adults sang tick-tocking lullabies
as they murdered their own
stories. Alas, a squat

sad boy arrived and stood
affront his gawking,
alpha-male father.

The bigger baby attacks,
clocks the other.
"You are all used up."

Yes, she's heard that inbred,
rockabilly song. That sort
of family. That little plan.

If she didn't choose her tune
she'd just be food for hawks.
Burned-out offerings.

Give her the binocular machine—
stopwatch says your time
is up; here's her chance to stand

on-dock and watch a whale breech
against the goddamned
adamant horizon.

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Copyright © 2011 C.J. Sage All rights reserved
from The Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission