Mutant

by Keith Mark Gaboury 
Issue 6: Industry

©okalinichenko

The radioactive waste 
my home sleeps on

seeped into Sarah’s brain
last night as she twisted

her sheets into a knot 
of neurological reject 
slapping a July 4th dawn

when her eyes snapped open
like a turtle in attack.

When we raided 
the pancake table, the syrup 

sloshing in her mouth 
morphed into a puddle of oil 

spilling from her engine-
gurgling stomach. 

Did I really marry 
this product of cellular-
driven internal combustion? 

With the clouds
unzipping a downtown rattle, 

I punch through 
a nexus of hail 
stinging my Homo sapient skull.