Collective Unrest

 

The Powerful Monster

March 27, 2019

The powerful monster combs his hair
in the morning, and flosses his flat,
white teeth. He has a drawer full
of watches that only speak to him; telling time
would be traitorous. His suits are silk,
as are his ties—soft
as the blade of a knife.

When he buttons his shirt, his nails are
perfect. Make no mistake;
he’ll grind your bones
to make his dough,
but the dust won’t stick
to his little hands.

His face is pervasive; every time
you close your eyes, its imprint
is burned on the back of your eyelids.

He is powerful, he’ll tell you,
as he spreads his liver-soft fingers,
but here’s something he can’t tell you: truth
burns his lips, exposes the air beneath his suit.

We have so much more to fear than his
petite paws.

 

Courtney Bates-Hardy is the author of House of Mystery (ChiZine, 2016) and Sea Foam (JackPine Press, 2013). Her poems have appeared in a variety of literary magazines, including RoomCarousel, and On Spec, and they have been featured in Imaginarium 4: The Best Canadian Speculative Writing and longlisted for The Best Canadian Poetry 2015. She is a dual citizen of Canada and the US, and lives in Saskatchewan.

Please follow and like us:
Newer Post

Galosta

I. When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, her baby leapt in her womb. II. Eight years ago this month my sister and I watched women selling shawls at the gates of Vatican City slinging modesty for women’s shoulders on…
Read
Older Post

response to Jeff Sessions using the Bible to defend separating immigrant children from their parents

i. what do             you love                         most,                         Jeff?             let’s take         that from        your             tight-fisted     egg                  and see             who scrambles                      first. ii. have you ever             held a discharged                         hand grenade?                                                 pieces too disparate,                                                             aren’t they? spread                                     like dandelion seeds                         on a lawn shadowed in whiteness. iii. i…
Read
Random Post

Hit Me Again

I carried my anger everywhere. This hot lump of rage, tucked into my shirt pocket. I liked to have it near me. I liked feeling its warmth. Then one day, I lost it. I reached for it, and it wasn’t…
Read
Random Post

Belial

It was a beautiful night. A little cold, but beautiful. That’s what he told me, it was beautiful, okay? And she was out there, walking, working - this hooker. Not as beautiful as the night, he said, but not a…
Read
Random Post

First Avenue

This image shows Aztec dancers at the first women's march, in downtown San Diego. I particularly like that they are crossing First Avenue, because it provides subtle yet truthful history. Mariana Monasi-Mustelin is a San Diego based photographer. She is…
Read
Random Post

Got My Ladder

I’d get the ladder, my dad said. Take it out of the garage, pull it past the garbage cans, through the gate, lean it against the front of the house, by the roses. Pack a picnic, fill the cooler with…
Read