EVEN MONA LISA FALLS APART

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Submitted Date 01/19/2019
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I crouch to goad a wee snail push along the road; weaving meticulously between upturned cars and tumbleweed litter.
Gaining pleasure from the cooling breeze and echoing nearby streams.
I lay along the pavement to closer study veins in the blades of grass,
that grew from concrete. Woe becomes me as sorrow builds for an abandoned cobweb;
decorated with pearled, morning dew. “Maybe, I'll move in” I think.
I close my eyes and allow the sunlight to warm my face; slipping within a nearing state of tranquility.
I think of family and all the years ago.
Behind me; twigs snap and someone cusses. Scavengers rush and a rusted pipe cracks my cheek. My pencil; matches, and hatchet stolen.
Books and journal unread; burned in the street. The gaggle roasted an unlucky quail and sauteed the fearless snail; whom I fiercely loved like any mother.
Left for dead, I played opossum while they dined.
As night settled, they drunkenly did the same, falling asleep where they reside; slumped over stumps and downed logs.
I clot my bleeding with gunpowder; acquired a blade and unclogged their carotid arteries before helping myself to their whiskey and bathing in another painted sunrise.
-Thomas E. Lockhart

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