Glass House by Joe Barca

       ​Tasha Lutek CC



Glass House

What happened was this.
The world became three dimensional again.

The dogwoods burst through
the windshield of my Volkswagen beetle.

The sun became a rose, not a revolver.
After a shower, I met John the Baptist.

My prison cell was now cool water.
And the battlefield was cleared of toxic.

The question of God may never be answered.
But what were we asking anyway?

And on Friday, my parents served fish sticks and French Fries.     
​       -       Then I met a girl.

That first kiss, after an eternity in hell,
all I could feel was a body of shocking.

​

Joe Barca is a poet from New England. He is married with two children and a Wheaten Terrier. He has self-published three short poetry collections and his work has been included in a number of cool publications. He is a fast talker and slow runner. Twitter @shepherdmoon53.

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