Jaw
They
found a white jawbone
Half-buried
in the hollow earth,
Played with
like a dog’s bone,
Sticking
up like a call for help.
Nothing else
remained in the ditch
And it
could not speak its name.
A line of
teeth like piano keys,
Broken,
angular, out of chord.
Ellen worked
at the Moto diner,
They reported
on the morning news.
Last seen
with a man with a cleft chin,
Maybe six
feet tall with a steady grin.
Anyone with
information should call,
But no
one knew anything at all.
She sleeps
somewhere else this night,
Waiting for
chance to discover her plight.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, July 4, 2020
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