black out the windows
but the storm is in the house
lightning in the bathtub
rain over the carpet
wooden thud of water on the fibers
the darkening spread
the silencing damp

moss on all our electronics
the script across all our screens reads,
chicken of the trees, buzzards, cricket synthesizer
soundtrack, the structure is abandoned,
hanging broken jaw house

the light on the alarm
strobes on the pillbugs
how they dance
having become ones and zeros

out of the green
pools in the bedrooms
the oxidized limbs of forgotten
androids begin to lift
reaching for the vines of noxious flowers
the closest thing they can find
to human hands

a broken program looped
in their mildewed skulls
something I was supposed to hold

ALEXANDER SCALFANO is originally from northern Alabama and graduated from UMass Amherst’s MFA in Poetry program. He currently teaches English and Creative Writing at the Dublin School in the mountains of southern New Hampshire where he is also the founding editor of the school’s arts magazine, Layman’s Way. Some of his poems appear in H_NGM_N, smoking glue gun, Jellyfish, ilk, and El Aleph.