we drown the kid in the kiddie pool
the garage keeps an eye on it
toast pops in the toaster
flames lick at the soles of our feet
we gargle with salt water
carry replica hand grenades
go behind the fence and beat at our
stomachs
our open mouths remind us of open pit mines
black plastic bags full of old dirty magazines
we see our reflection in the water
anything could happen in there,
we think
the microwave dings
someone puts the television on mute
goes into the kitchen
looks out the
windows
the fat white tongue extends
from the end of the hose
ice cubes melt on the sidewalk
flowers erupt from the grass
a blind torso wriggles in the
bathtub
everything's simple
the sun makes our skin prune and wither
we input the front door code
###
David C. Porter is from the American northeast. He edits Keep Planning and writes Garden Scenery. His work has also appeared in various other places. His first novel, NTTN, was published by Organ Bank Industries. He can be reached on Twitter @toomuchistrue or via his website.