David Bankson

The Dark

The middle of the highway 
at noon

The stench of oil lingers 
on the air     you can feel 

the strangeness of neighbors 
bore holes through your body. 

Hold your hands knuckle-white 
and tell the truth of your sameness. 

Copper sunlight 
crosses intersections;

a couple holds hands
while another scrapes up fury.

The sun sets in silver,

everyone afraid of the dark.



David Bankson lives in Texas. He was a finalist in the 2017 Concīs Pith of Prose and Poem, and his poetry and micro-fiction can be found in concis, (b)oink, Thank You for Swallowing, Artifact Nouveau, Riggwelter Press, Five 2 One Magazine and a few others.
Read more from him:
Driftwood, in Indiana Voice Journal
Construct of Wood & Glass, in Chantarelle’s Notebook

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