Written: July 20, 2010
Artifacts in Waiting by Christopher M. Bohan
Calm waters. Forever is tomorrow. Cool breezes.
Time moves along as it pleases with no apologies rendered. The sun is wearing a hat. The ocean is taking a bath. The sky isn’t taking any calls and has put the moon in its pocket.
A clam struggles to open, afraid what it might not see.
A rock. A shell.
A meteor streaks across the sky and cautiously descends before burning a trail across a plateau of unremarkable height.
A blade of grass. A dead now. A cat.
Rust sticks a napkin under its chin and begins to gnaw away at Detroit.
A bridge. A sewer pipe. A television.
Drips of water rejoice as their years of persistence have finally been justified as they finally penetrate the roof of the store that ceased to sell anything, something, sometime long ago.
A rat. An upturned cockroach. A dollar bill.
A crane, on its side, spans a putrid stream as it feeds it with its seeping, ancient oil.
A column.
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