was a murder on the outskirts of town and two hundred jaws
dropped quickly to the floor as water troughs on Main Street
filled with human tears. Horses became tender like kittens
you could ride. Sparrows sang on crime scene tape in a
minor key and barns became suspicious of holding more
than hay. Known for their love of God and hospitality the
preacher wept like Jesus with no Lazarus in sight. Sunday
dinners soon became the crumbs of grief and gossip. Most
believers turned to football, America’s denial. The killer
placed a bet on who would win the game.
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His work has appeared in Southern Humanities Review, North American Review, and others. His work is forthcoming in The Meadow, Ponder Review, The Chiron Review, Nine Mile Magazine, and Rogue Agent. His book, Waxing the Dents, is from Brick Road Poetry Press.
Image: Seemann, morguefile.com
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