HOMECOMING TIMEBOMB



With a dead manís switch blade,
I carve my name into a concrete wall,

the wall the border to the city
of my birth and the city is nothing
but skeletons and car shells,
stray dogs feed on wild strawberries
grown from vines binding bodies.

The past doesnít go away, of course,
it just hides like a thorn-face
imaginary friend standing beside you
at all times, stuffed with a time bomb.

And, naturally, anyone who says
they regret nothing has never done
anything truly regrettable.

Iíd lay the city bare if I could,
breathe in a match and exhale
flame, just quickly enough to settle into

the space between breaths on a clock.
Before the clock explodes.


________________________________________

Robert Krut is the author of two books: This is the Ocean (Bona Fide Books, 2013), recipient of the Melissa Lanitis Gregory Poetry Award, and The Spider Sermons (BlazeVox, 2009).  His work has appeared in journals like Gulf Coast, Blackbird, Passages North, and more.  He was an inter|rupture contributor in 2011, with the poem "The Fortune Teller."  More information can be found at www.robert-krut.com.