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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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West of the Sun, East of Decay


 
a May morning,
the ozone layer nothing
 
but a steel curtain
that blocks the light
of hope and the sun
 
my wife,
with the utmost
drudgery and love
 
pours the kids’ cereal
while our caste
is repeated, while
 
the cartoon voices
echo off the ceiling
and the world.

              -David Labounty

 

 

The Last Page (or Something Hemingway Said)
 
there was a weekly ritual,
a dimming of the lights,
a closing of the blinds
and a pulling of the shades
and the teeth had to be
brushed and the
face had to be
scrubbed and
he said his wife’s
face while fucked
read like the last page
of a complex novel,
so many layers peeled
away leaving nothing
save sagging eyes
and crows’ feet and
lines of worry and
laughter, not unlike
so much bare-boned
 
architectural prose.

            -David Labounty

 

 

Foreclosure
 
the house
you left
behind is
like a
memory
that grows,
 
is growing
 
weeds in
the concrete
cracks and
flowerbeds
along with
the grass
that is no
longer tamed
by the
domesticity
waged by
a wife,
two kids &
a dog
 
and you
 
consider the
old neighbors
for a
moment,
especially
the fat lady
across the
street, her
round white
face like
a full and
fallen moon
glaring from
her picture
window,
telling her
narrow
husband
see,
I told you so.

 

    -David Labounty