Arcade, by Erin O’Quinn (posted with permission)

After seeing my earlier poem, Erin responded with one of her own, and then posted a call to flash fiction or poetry responses. Those will be posted separately, so they don’t get lost.

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We toured the tonsils of the beast
led by a bored museum guide
through the gullet
down to the gut
where aeons of seawater
sluicing through
had left hollow ulcerated pools
in the bone.
Look, my son said,
how funny he is now
that he’s dead.

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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