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Probe

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In a movie I have never seen: a small-town drunk
stumbles into a beam of light & wakes up convinced
he was abducted by aliens, convinced a hole opened in the sky
& swallowed him — said they did something strange to his body
some kind of experiment, said a hole opened, said cold light
cauterized him shut, redefined that red theory, chrome instrument
turned him into a skinless puzzle, a scrambled egg
sealed back into its shell. Madness, too, can be accumulative.
When my blood seemed uncontrollable, ran messy with pulp
down their fingers, my cousins finally left the room, laughing
closing the basement door behind them.

Source: Poetry (January 2017)

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This poem originally appeared in the January 2017 issue of Poetry magazine

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Probe

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