Corbett Buchly

coiled drum bides in stillness

the game room after dusk is the cutting
board before the holiday dinner
the loose shavings of vegetable and meat
strewn like bodies or dominoes
left behind by the carnage of play
there was laughter here and shouts
there the drum banging of boys finding
their way older, but now only the blue hat
cast aside half beneath the table
the game room after dusk is the garbage sack
rent by raccoons, the leavings of living
decorate the road
the game room after dusk
stores the tornado of growing bones
the pause button that dawn’s grasping yawn
will push and the still frame will explode
into movement
into colour by the thousands

Corbett Buchly obtained a Masters in Writing from the University of Southern California. His poetry has appeared in Barrow Street and North Dakota Quarterly. He currently abides somewhere in the heartbreakingly ordinary suburbs of Northeast Texas.