Two Prose Poems
From Planet 225

by Christien Gholson

Good Guys, Bad Guys

A short burst of the freight train’s horn arcs over me. There is a stuffed lynx in a glass box down the road, in a restaurant in Ely. There are photos of actors from nineteen thirties Westerns on the restaurant wall. Some wear black hats, some wear white. There are tiny, anonymous graves scattered all over this desert. I am not saying this from inside a dream. Coyotes paw at my door all night long, trying to get in.

Out here, drones hover behind the brilliant sun, practicing for the Second Coming. There are lights that move across the night sky, soaking up the darkness between the stars. No one knows what those lights are, what they might mean. I have seen the men who search the sand with metal detectors, getting down on all fours,

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