Warrenville by night,
huddled hills,
thick-spread dark.
the wind reveals the trees
by turning the leaves
belly-up.
summer storm rattles windows
with the bloat of thunder,
the startled shriek
of lightning.
stray cats leap from the shadows
& quiver under porches,
eyes mad
in their tiny skulls.
inside, covers scrunched to chins
children eye their closets
for any sign of movement
within -
the churchbell.
the hiss & chug of the train
messily bisecting the town.
a gun goes off, but
it is camouflaged by the storm.
the aura of powder hangs
like an incrimination,
mutely accusatory.
have faith, cries the preacher
every Sunday.
they murmur & clasp hands
against all their respective ghosts,
go home & strangle their wives
with silence
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