“The Neighbour” by Samuel Strathman

Slipshod tread, plop – 

into a ready-made grave. 


Bethany’s tracks were

followed into the thicket, 

cynosure at its finest.


It takes a perfect creep

to pull off this kind

of abduction.


Larvae and forest

swathe her from head

to toe, wrists

and ankles broken –

necrosis, vulned cranium.


Piles of mud 

begin to gather

as she contorts,

little live wire.


The man with

the shovel begins

to whistle blithely –

another day

at the office.



Samuel Strathman is a poet, author, educator, and editor at Cypress: A Poetry Journal.

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