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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of
cc&d (v245) (the September / October 2013 Issue)

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Art is not Meant
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Something Told Me No

David Thompson

If you ever come near the kids again, I’ll have
my brothers on you so fast, it’ll make your head spin.
She’s standing in the middle of the courtyard,
fists on hips, yelling at the apartment building.
If I have to come back here again you can bet
it’ll be with a goddamn gun, you son of a bitch.
I barely look up over my magazine to watch her walk
away. At the edge of the parking lot she turns
and screams toward me, You better keep your mouth shut,
asshole, or I’ll come for you, too. When her van rolls away,
I swallow the rest of my Pabst in three hard swallows.

It had been a nice Friday night out on my little porch
with my beer, some almonds and Sports Illustrated.
The white van drives in, a big blonde woman gets out.
I almost gave a little wave, but something told me no,
and she went straight to the building across the courtyard,
pushed all the door bells, put her face and hands hard
against the glass. When nothing happened, barely a breeze,
she backed away and the screaming started.

After a few moments of quiet again, I decide
it’s way too dark to read, need another beer anyway.
I go back inside, slide the French doors closed,
click the lock hard twice just to be sure. I get another
beer from the fridge, finish half of it before I’m out
of the kitchen, push my favorite chair as far away
from the window as I can get it before I even think
of sitting down.



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