By Richard King Perkins II
It was my brother who first discovered
the body of a hobo who got Macked
by a midnight truck and who found
the bloated little boy face-down
in the community pool.
He was even there when they pulled
twenty-nine diced pieces of rotting
human flesh from a neighborhood
trash can, an event hushed up by
the local papers.
I swear God is always smiling down on
my little brother while I sit at home
reading books which mandate
a thousand deaths per chapter,
waiting for Jesus to grin and die
in front of me and for my brother
to confess it’s more than just providence
which guides him.
Clutching at Straws 