Safe House

A telephone comes to me through a thick night jungle of restless blue chickens. The voice in the receiver is a remote squawk. I pace the crab covered driveway bare foot, wrapped in white cord. I feel their dry tongues upon me as their lights go out. There is a whole pond between us. I walk onto the landing to better hear your accent, delirious through the sound of trees and humidity. Behind me, a spark from under the door – the phosphorescent gulls have gotten in. Their luster leads the way to empty homes. Blue chickens cross the panes of my window, eager for the light to infect their black olives eyes.