What a Shot
 
The other night we looked up and the moon was a box. Then dad appeared from behind the shed cradling his shotgun. He said: ‘I did that!’ We said: ‘No way.’ So he called us a bad name. ‘You would not bat an eye if I was the U.S. government!’
 
Now the moon has right angles. Now the moon is a wrong peg. Now the moon resembles one of those watermelons from Japan. Now every night the moon begs us to have a little faith.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Back from the War
 
How your lover
returns
 
your gaze like
they are taking aim.
 
How your lover falls
on every step.
 
How at night, your lover
guzzles the dead
 
butterflies from a rain boot.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
EVAN NICHOLLS is a poet and collage artist from Virginia. His chapbook of poems and collages, Holy Smokes, is available from Ghost City Press. Find more of his work at enicholls.com.