Their silhouettes trace the grey New Jersey sky.
They should be down South, napping
on Myrtle Beach, the empty Florida shore
like a groundhog should be in its burrow.
They should be guzzling spilled Cokes,
feasting on shards of leftover beach
pretzels. But they’re too small, too stupid,
too broken. Down below, a fawn points,
giggles at the funny-looking ones. A fox smirks
at the runts. Soon, stomachs will wither
bone. Dead bodies will dot a neighbor’s backyard.
Feathers will scatter over driveways buried
in fresh snow. But they keep gliding
like tragic heroes, hoping for an elegy.
Daniel Boyko is a writer from New Jersey. His work appears or is forthcoming in SOFTBLOW, Nanoism, Eunoia Review, and The Aurora Journal, among others. He serves as Editor-in-Chief of Polyphony Lit. Wherever his dog is, he can’t be far behind.