Jack Galmitz


The Aftermath

The blowing of the shofar. From a cement bunker. Audible as breath blown through a plastic straw. Then geese. Geese cackling and crossing a cloud. (The direct object). Reverberation of a woman’s voice then a cascade of wet rubber squeezed. It’s changing like readings of vital signs. It’s spiraling down. Silence of horses walking home to the barn. Attentive, you can hear the sound of singing or conversation, probably in a huge shower stall.

There’s an air raid sound. Tripped accidentally or something is wrong. Something is moving through space with the joyfulness of destruction. I am not the target, although I may be collateral damage. I can hear the spitting of assault rifles. Men bursting through the woods with shaved heads. Swastikas tattooed on their arms and legs. A confederate flag waves itself. The chorus. They address the audience. It is nemesis. They want their country back. They unleash dogs ferociously set out in the four directions seething, teeth bared, salivating, desiring flesh revenge.

Once it was in the funhouse that things were distorted. Men line up to take their turn at a podium to make speeches. They look alike. They sound alike. They say the same thing. It is as if they were images on a laternamagica illuminated by the light of the electric grid. They hiss. They writhe. Their teeth gnash. They spit. It is the end time for them. Some are delirious about this. Some have jism in their pants. The women nearly faint. Oh, it will be Him. Him. They sing a hymn. “When he comes back to judge the world, he’ll have a sword in his mouth and he won’t be the same at all….” There is no harmony. Their ears are tin.

I’m looking at the moon. It’s nearly full. It’s difficult to see it as a sphere. It seems like a circle. Or a bulb in a series of bulbs climbing stairs. A grand casino built by a bankrupt man. It’s a monument to himself. Meaningless. I love the street lamps. Especially when white clouds move in droves in the dark slithering sky.

Jack Galmitz was born when the world was black and white. He's lived long enough to see it come full circle.
 
 
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