wanders the night, head
lowered, lurking in sprawling
It glides along—long-legged, long-
faced—dips its neck & slips past
the forlorn monkey
bars & swing-less swing set. Up
the wooded hillock,
parked cars hump to “Yeah! Oh Yeah!”
A foot juts out an unrolled
glass, ankle bracelet
jangling. Flickering headlights
pass through dark, trembling
leaves, so you can’t see the giraffe
slumped behind a butterfly
bush, watching, listening
for the sake of national
you might be a terrorist.
We might all be terrorists.
Matt Morris has appeared in various magazines and journals, including ABZ, DMQ, 88, Hunger Mountain, New York Quarterly, Runes, and others. He has received five Pushcart nominations. His first book won the 2003 Main Street Rag Poetry Award; Pudding House has published his chapbooks, Here’s How and Greatest Hits. He currently lives on what remains of a farm in West Virginia with his goldfish Homer.