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Crumbs Along the Asphalt Forest Path
by Kristina Woodhill
The first .40 Smith and Wesson Federal
appeared at my feet
at the side of Powerline Road
across from the fish hatchery,
a cigarette butt look-alike,
shiny, though,
discarded,
casing unsmoked, business end intact;
to the unarmed hand,
a snubbed nose, flat headed chunk of gold metal,
dressed in a sleek gold-coordinated mini-skirt canister;
it spoke no shaky, shaky,
silent
sullen
solid
weight, it laid weight in the palm
pretty little stretchers for your pretty little lobes,
pretty little phallis for a smooth, quick entry;
exploding fantasies at finger tip flexing,
indexing a statistic,
'cause it's fun to beat the odds
you're such a hipster, holster me
shatter me, shatter me softly,
let me down
easy
e
a
s
y
I'll reassemble
for the short story version,
give you that ragged ending
you crave, I'll be brave;
so here's the odd poetic segue
to the friend's son who played russian roulette
and watched his friend eat lead
I hadn't thought of that for years,
I've never watched a boy spin himself dead
#2 cartridge beckoned from
the middle of the road on our return walk,
glint slightly dulled from grinding,
spinning, thumping under,
casing uncracked, business end still meant it
there was no smoking revolver
brushed seductively
by some chick's scarlett pursed pucker,
eye's steely and sideways glancing,
no measuring the tiny “oh!” mouth
of some surprised lover's
final liquid red stop sign;
the road, black and dusty,
lay flat and wilting;
angry august
angry, angry august
waltz of the unchambered symphony
tickled sticky sweat up and down my spine
errands – a drive to town
long straight black top
target unseen
trajectory familiar
gold glint
spotted here,
gold glint
spotted there
see the little lady
picking up the gold gleams,
nuggets for her basket
from the long, hot road
seven little dwarves
rolled away from their chores
seven little pencil stubs
sharpened down to nubs
seven little worry beads,
seven little gathered up
potentialities
and I'll not tuck them back into their box
08/27/2012
Author's Note: Found:
7 gold cartridges, some marred, some sleek and smooth.
Entry to fish hatchery;
corner of busy high school kiddy corner the quiet Catholic cemetery;
a block down from the elementary school street crossing;
at the corner of the health clinic;
4 made it to the Police station where the police woman
opened the envelope and let me drop them in. Apparently no one is allowed to touch stuff brought in to a police station.
3 found on the way back home – rolling around on my desk, lost with the living, they will remain quietly here.
What an odd morning that was.
Posted on 08/27/2012
Copyright © 2026 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 08/27/12 at 09:28 PM Sounds very odd indeed!! But the writing about it? Brilliant :) |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 08/28/12 at 12:59 PM Fantastic poem! While I love the whole thing, "pretty little phallis for a smooth, quick entry;
exploding fantasies at finger tip flexing,
indexing a statistic,
'cause it's fun to beat the odds" has to be my favorite lines. Have to let my husband read this. He's been quite disturbed by how many hollow point rounds several divisions of our government's been ordering. Since the Geneva Convention's banned them for warfare, what then are they planning for? In the hands of a poet,even a bullet is a thing of beauty. Thank you, Kristina, for reminding me. |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 08/30/12 at 07:57 AM Bullets cannot be recalled. They cannot be uninvented. But they can be taken out of the gun...this is the best case scenario. Now it is time to call attention to our bed, a forest of skin...our ironic casing. Thanks.
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| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/30/12 at 04:14 PM Captivating story poem with an "explosive" moral to it. Reminds me of the new show I saw the other night on TV, whereby companies bid on contracts here in Canada to clean up sites where there are still unexploded munitions on old military practice ranges dating back to the second world war. Entertaining and illuminating as always Kristina. :) |
| Posted by Kerowyn Rose on 09/02/12 at 01:04 PM Amazing! This is going in my favorites... love your rhythms and every stanza is an artistic little treasure. Thanks for sharing! |
| Posted by Dane Campbell on 09/18/12 at 04:15 AM This is beautiful - the form is quite interesting, and the imagery serves the work quite well. |
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