The Denny’s was divided
into spheres of influence,
but peace increasingly reminded me
of an atoll awaiting nuclear testing.
In the first sphere,
Satan was an orphan
peering in the bakery window.
In the second, tweens modeled
the unsexiest kind of love.
I ruled the smoking sector
because I was behind the wheel
of the minivan
that collapsed the entryway.
In the past, I’d been acclaimed
for my freelance warlording.
But now, covered in rubble,
my twitchy citizens
had grown only twitchier.
Treaty lines blocked
our access to pastries.
There’s still time to be young
and awake in a different music video
than you fell asleep in, I shouted.
But they take massive, reckless
property damage seriously
here in Pennsylvania.
Not even Satan’s sniveling
can change that.
I raised my hand
in query, in dissent
but the officers
were in a holiday mood.
Maybe you out there
have many questions also.
Perhaps you think starlight’s
some form of pity.
from Poetry Northwest 08.2 Fall & Winter 2013-2014More by Kyle McCord from the library
Copyright © Kyle McCord
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.