Two
Tiny Horses
A magician splits a zebra in half. All of the white
parts to one side and all of the black parts
to the other. A crew of calloused
hands push and mold and glue and sew
and stitch these pieces together
so that one zebra no longer exists but instead
two miniature creatures, one all black, and one all
white. When people look at these two mosaic
beasts on the street, leashed up for pocket
change, they shake their heads
and are certain they are not one zebra, certain
they are two tiny horses. Two tiny mules. Donkeys, maybe,
but not two parts of one zebra. Never that. The magician sits relaxed
in his director's chair, not far from the action.
Circus Dead Pheasant
The ringleader's
spleen was retrieved
and eaten.
It's hunting
season, said the circus
dead pheasant
but no one spoke circus
dead pheasant
so most
only assumed
the weather
was off its tilt.
Benjamin Niespodziany
lives in Chicago. His work has appeared in The Wigleaf Top 50, Fence, Fairy Tale
Review, BOOTH, Mercurius Magazine, SurVision, etc. His debut
poetry collection (with blurbs by Lemony Snicket and CAConrad) was
released by Okay Donkey in 2022, and his novella of stage plays (with
blurbs by Alex van Warmerdam and Vi Khi Nao) is out now with X-R-A-Y.