by Patrick Kindig

& it is the brightness of one thousand streetlights
gleefully pounding on the sky’s back door!
& the sky is answering! it is tying
its bathrobe around itself & coming to the door
with a shotgun, its chest hair visible
& its balls hanging out! it is asking the streetlights
what the fuck they want at this hour!
it is telling the streetlights to get off its property
or so help it god it will shoot them
in their dicks! & the streetlights
are laughing! they are wrestling
the sky’s gun from it & punching it
in the gut! they are opening its fridge
& pissing on its birthday cake!
& the sky is crying! it is asking what it ever did
to deserve this! it is telling the streetlights
it has a wife & kids & it is a good
person! & this is a lie! it is a lie
& the streetlights know it, so they are making
the sky eat the birthday cake! &
as the sky eats the birthday cake, they are looking at it
& still laughing! & their laughter is like
one thousand needles entering the sky’s skin
in quick succession! it is like they are giving the sky
a tattoo of its ex-wife’s name, a tattoo
of naked john travolta! & the sky
knows the streetlights have won & there is
nothing it can do about it! & the streetlights are
ebullient! they are turning on all the lights
in the house! they are making the kitchen
luminous! & they are making the living room
luminous! & they are making the downstairs bathroom
& the upstairs bathroom & the master bedroom
luminous! & in the kitchen the sky is
luminous, & it is hanging its head in shame!