Monday, January 2, 2012

Kent Gowran


In the days following the turkey
his distance from her grew.

At the company holiday party the
Christmas itch it took him.

Beneath mistletoe the betrayal came across
subtle as a bell-ringer.

A run of Thursday afternoon receipts
from the Diplomat Motel.

A pattern of unfaithfulness at the height
of that most wonderful time.

And now the neon windows of bars
call out solace.

"Silent Night" plays low on the radio
disrupted by static.

And in the trunk of the family car
the axe is restless.

John Ricotta reads "The Christmas Itch":

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Kent confesses: "Christmas. Crime. The two go hand in hand. Just like those company Christmas parties I attended in the '90s. I was always surprised everyone stayed cool. But maybe they didn't, and that axe might chop more than a family Christmas tree."

KENT GOWRAN was born in the country and lives in the city. His stories and poems have appeared in Needle, Plots with Guns, A Twist of Noir, My Favorite Bullet, Poetry Motel, Mystery Island Magazine, Driver's Side Airbag Twisted Savage, and other wild venues. He edits the webzine Shotgun Honey with two nefarious cohorts, and keeps a poor excuse for a blog at

1 comment:

Thomas Pluck said...

Very nice work, Kent. Melancholy with all the right notes.