There is a large bomb within this vehicle
—Dec. 25, 2020, Nashville, Tennessee
by Elizabeth Garcia
Listen man, I've done the research,
and anything is possible with the devil
behind it. You say the sky is blue,
but that’s just what it wants you to think
so it can hold itself over your head.
I did the research, and you don’t know
what whole machinery clinks there.
The moon, you say, gave us answers,
but what good are rocks? Why talk
probability when your sons get struck
by lightning, just winding up the pitch,
just a few inches between an act of God
and eating a hot dog? And do you know
how many assholes make up a hot dog?
No, you can’t. We’re the dogs, man,
trying to contemplate Newton. We’re all
just creeping animals. What’s the world
coming to, when the women, like whiptails,
think they don’t need us, think they
can multiply on their own? Don’t tell me
the devil ain’t at work, man. He’s walking
over the water straight at you
like a Jesus Christ lizard.
About the Author
Elizabeth Cranford Garcia’s work has or will soon appear in publications such as Boxcar Poetry Review, SoFloPoJo, Mom Egg Review, Psaltery & Lyre, Dialogist, several anthologies, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her first chapbook, Stunt Double, was published in 2016 through Finishing Line Press. She is the current Poetry Editor for Dialogue: a Journal of Mormon Thought and a SAHM of three in Acworth, Georgia. Read more of her work at elizabethcgarcia.wordpress.com.