Fatmouth.

If a shooting star spent all of eternity
in being stricken across the night skies…
ever steady, blazing through the E-40
a distance, never closing –
between two massive, lying eyes…
the bell’s constant tolling –
a sound patterned to symbolize…
one of the fighters is face-down –
lights out, three – two – one
stars still twinkling,
sun still sinking –
along with the well-honed
bare-boned,
dramatic fireworks show,
I belatedly recognize…
the shooting star
fired from the smoking barrel
of Misery’s own Sig Sauer .45 –
no room to wiggle
no time to grow in size.

2 thoughts on “Fatmouth.

  1. Aquileana says:

    Next time I see a shooting star I know exactly which would be my wish… Sigh…. Great poem…Beautifully penned By the way, I am inviting you to join a Poetry challenge called Non Love in More Than Ten Words. You can check it out on this post, after the mythology section wp.me/p60vo-4ah All my best wishes, Aquileana 😀