Monday, November 24, 2014

John David Muth


I can't see anything
except the car.

An LED light flashes
from the dashboard
gray and opaque
like the soul of a teenage girl
teasing her killer.

If she's screaming
I cannot hear her.
.22 caliber hail
ricochets off the roof
brittle bone branches
snap in the dark.

The power is out
but the cherry-scented candle
makes the room smell nice.
Its light takes my mind off the cold.

I hope a tree falls on that damn car.
Haven't liked it since I bought it.
Not enough trunk space.

Gerald So reads "November Storm":

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John confesses: "My power went out during Hurricane Sandy. Attracted by the cracking of tree branches and the heavy rain on the roof, I looked outside. The only thing I could see was the flashing LED light from my car alarm. It inspired an eerie, otherworldly feeling."

JOHN DAVID MUTH was born and raised in central New Jersey. Currently he is an academic advisor working for Rutgers University. His poetry is usually sarcastic or satirical in nature. Occasionally, he inserts a little murder here and there.

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