Mark Bibbins

from “Blasted Fields of Clover Bring Harrowing and Regretful Sighs”

From the crater rose a dinosaur with girly hands. All fled to the teller machine having seen the meteor’s descent a metal streak across the sky. Even the radio shrink made haste following his forehead. Rows of women in a field extol the virtues of mail-order grains. One mounts a screed another makes a wild rice portrait of her beloved sitcom neighbor. After accident and indecision they wait in a roadside shack with television and folding chairs. The breakfast contingent dwindles so the delinquent must find a new haunt. Not this time. A pizza grows colder upon each traversal of woods a mnemonic for sex and further sex on basement steps. The doll’s death certificate conceals a robotic arm and by the time someone finds a phone the corn will be up to the raptor’s ribs. Lackluster composure another left behind.