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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

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