“The Liar” By Christopher Raley
September 17th, 2008 § Leave a Comment
The liar sat at the table drinking his favorite beer.
Calloused, bloated feet scuffed the tile
and the ocean air breezed through the open windows.
He ranted his gravel voice his views
on politics, on prisons, on children.
He stood in the entry as we were going out,
elated and stamped the booming floor,
growled at them, clawed the air a stained hand,
man as animal in jubilant pretend
and the dog barked, shivering.
We took the boys to the beach
so they chased the waves in and out
and screamed happy fear,
a child’s fear of danger that never quite touches.
But of a sudden they were quiet
and sat making signs with driftwood.
We laughed to them the meanings
but their serious faces cast mystery.
Seagulls sounded the kind of cry that pierces a pleasant dream.
The dog snapped at their shadows as they passed across the sand
