Prose Poetry and Fiction from Web del Sol

Peter Johnson


My father is omniscient. He says, When I知 right, I知 right, and when I知 wrong, I知 right. So he痴 infallible, too. High above us, he rides his crane, his large, white eye illuminating our bedroom window. Or he slides under the door on the blue vapor of the TV. For lunch, peanut butter, or the tang of ore dust on our outstretched tongues. Rats killed by pouring jagged pieces of glass around the foundation. Seal their holes with concrete blocks, my father says. At twilight, we burrow beneath the swing set. Mother should say, Wait until your father comes home, but instead: If you dig a hole, you値l have to bury someone in it. Behind her, father痴 sad eye blinks.