ManicWorld Magazine

We left our crumbling tower
to sift microbes from the moat.
“Do you know this song?”
It’s a scar, I thought.
She lit the shrubs on fire and
a corpse came crawling out.
He was tarred and feathered.
I was scarred and weathered.
“Where’s your darling wife?”
“In the oven with the roast.”
We laughed, and I no longer felt alone.