Why so angry, Bluto?

p
o
e
m
s

Your low frequency growl inspires feelings of dread. You want

to seize the world by its neck, tear it in half with your

tombstone teeth. When you storm down the street, swigging

from a bottle of XXX and punching telephone poles to

splinters, fleeing hooligans dive down manholes, pull the lids

in after. Shivering houses roll up their front walks and slam

their own doors. But from her high window Olive leans out to

watch you pass. We know her weakness for brutes—has she

learned nothing? Don’t do it, Olive! But she does. Wotta man,

she sighs, throwing down a coy rose.

 

Martha McCollough is a writer and video artist in Chelsea, Massachusetts.

You Might Also Enjoy

Origin Point

Emma Hine

My mother calls—she’s had the dream
again, the one where our first dog,
Ivy, has left and taken up with another. . .

poems

Trick of Light

Maya Phillips

This is no small
thing: to be
the wickless
candle, borrowed
hands of the divine
to let there be. . .

poems

Nashville Drip Season

Shane Book

He removed himself with his hands, an effort not unnoticed.
People threw shells, congotronic drumming looped
from. . .

poems

Further Reading

Heads Up: We recently updated our privacy policy to clarify how and why we collect personal data. By using our site, you acknowledge that you have read and understand this policy.