Flumes Volume 1 Issue 1 - Page 12



By Tim Kahl

The chef’s knife is the freedom flag

he waves at his brother, his mother,

who adopted him when he was four.

Overnight across the Sierras and Rockies

with the deadline approaching,

finally, the boy is abandoned in

Grand Island, Nebraska. He is awarded

to the white walls of a hospital,

wanted as much as flour bugs in

the waffle mix. Was there no tonal

center in him, only the site of

mechanical pigs racing around his

innermost rings? They oink,

and he follows. They oink, and he

imagines violence just a button push

away. Who is still able to disable it?

What last great shining theory dares

to disprove anger? No expert can

explain away its mechanics.

No expert can understand why

others harbor inside themselves

a mechanical bass that sings

“Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

A gear sticks. A wire breaks,

and intimates troubleshoot,

trying to learn a song for

a soul with an extra set of teeth.