Mudlark No. 48 (2012)


On time, delayed, diverted, it’s happening:  
out of Atlanta, your two sisters, Joan 
a new widow; Diana with new knee; 
just now being skewed to Daytona Beach, 
as we sit in Savannah’s airport space, 
in the general store, studying a mystery 
novel’s pages. Is there ever a place 
to go the arrivals board won’t flip? Start 
here. Get to there. Good weather, a gentle 
wind, and no ice forming in milky clouds,
nor sleet on the wings. Then a sudden shear,
a bad CT scan, something that shouldn’t
be there, our names on the big board not yet
missing, not yet way too far south of here.

John Allman | For Lucretius
Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)