The Driest Place On Earth
By Shanna Compton
I watched in horror as the man hung
half a pig by a hook in the window.
Nearby, the sea shone or something.
Nearby, the wingspan of a hawk cast an elongated shadow.
I listened with horror to the words I was missing.
A wrongness was growing in the living moon.
& nearby, the sea rolled endlessly.
Nearby, the saw grass peered through the grit & preened.
I’ve never been to Florida. Louisiana however
is second skin of mind, a habit-habitat.
& Texas on the way there, the red soil
& black boars, the frankly haunted pines
lone men in pickups fishing
for nothing they intend to catch.
& nearby, the sea froths over the edge.
& nearby, the sea.
Nearer & nearer
the obliterating sea