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John Grey
poetry
HOMECOMING, THE ODDS
​
Maybe I will arrive
and find no one living,
all of my loved ones
butchered and bloodied,
in bed, on the floor,
on the couch,
slumped over the kitchen table.
But, more likely,
they’ll all be alive,
wrap arms around me,
greet me with such emotion.
There are so many more houses
than there are monsters.
Every night,
I drive home,
with the odds in my favor.
TRANSFORMATION
​
At sunset, the green forest
becomes a gauntlet
of grabbing hands.
And the gleaming blue lake
is transformed by shadow
into a hypnotic, compelling
drowning pool.
Not forgetting the birds
that mutate into bats.
And the gentle people
who turn savage
once the humanizing light
is put down like a dog.
The twilight sun absconds with
the world we live in.
The moon ratchets up
the world we fear.
