A wall of vague stone faces haunted a small
town in northern Maine and no one ever
talked about it even as they passed it
in the night. The high school kids
would drink there on Halloween or days
when they were bored late in the summer.
She was a drummer and she would hit the kit
for hours in her padded out garage.
He was rebuilding a small camper van
in his driveway when she opened up
the automatic door and let the sunlight
fill in all there was to see.
They brought out each others inner vandals
and took down handles of stolen whisky
that they borrowed from the people
holding back. The wall began to crack
into a gash that spread across the faces
in an act that gave them new neglected grins.
Their night began where it begins in all
the times before. There is no door back
to the moments when they couldn’t make
their mark but it’s a start
to finally realize something’s broken.
They balanced on the crooked ledge
with bottles in their hands and no demands
from any part of them pretending
they were anywhere at all.
Then they both fell off the top of the wall.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s