They walked against cancer,

big and black, wearing pink cotton.

The font was circus.

Misty eyes.

And if they were zombies.

And if they were revolution.

And if they were pre-anger,

post-knowledge.

 

They would split our skulls-

feast on our brains.

And we would have only mowed

30 of them down

in our Ford 150.

Wipers on.

Coffee splashes, spills. Warm puddle.

Cold mark.

And they would stand up.

And they would feast.

And they would walk

with out stretched arms.

 - jesse bercowetz