[i think we all misheard]

and my brother in one room and
my sister on the floor and
all of us liars

all of us dying
our entire lives

small fingers scratching at the
kitchen door,
but nothing to be afraid of

but nothing

and not a whole lot of time,
but what were you expecting?

after the war comes the plague and
then, after the plague, a war

man across the street with a gun,
and this is what his
youngest child shoots him with

irony, maybe,
if that’s your thing,
or maybe tragedy

maybe vengeance

we all need to figure out
exactly how much shit we’re
willing to eat, then plan
our next move

consider who we love

measure the distance from
this desert to the next

understand that you can only
ever be a reflection of
the emptiness you embrace

John Sweet

John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest poetry collections include "A Flag on Fire is a Sign of Hope" (2019 Scars Publications) and "A Dead Man, Either Way" (2020 Kung Fu Treachery Press).