WHO'LL CATCH THE KIDS
ON THE CURLY SLIDE?
by Nathan Logan
The children's tabernacle choir harmonizes
in the woods surrounding the cemetery.
Their last performance was in the limestone
quarry; they'll sing anywhere. At the first
heavenly whisper, residents drop their car
keys in unison: a waterfall of diamonds.
They zombie-scoot toward the cemetery
and dead in-laws. As more people arrive,
the singing gets louder. The ground shakes,
chasms open in the road, oaks split in half.
Ears trickle blood, but the choir still sounds
like a horde of trumpets at the pearly gates.
Something good is going to happen.
They can't sing forever, after all.