Benjamin Niespodziany

A Turkey in the Context of Bowling

after Mark Leidner

[1] He wrote a poem in the brim of his cowboy hat. His math was all wrong. The song was something like a loaded coal train. A winter spritzer. A felony of talons. His spread of weather was a crime of gossip. Sure, the piano was cool in the sun but why so quick to pile the bricks? And a pigeon for dinner? It grew bigger each bite.

[2] The tiniest time capsule holds one thumb. When the aliens arrive, they find a child on the phone. Midnight is the best time to be an island roof. Hymnal window, mildew skewers. Strange, all that stuff that happened with God.