There Be Dragons
Grant Clauser
A website meant to be helpful
says there's a house two streets away
with a child rapist living in it. 

The house is white asbestos siding.
the grass mowed but uneven,
screen tacked up around the porch.

Around town stapled yard sale signs 
flap from telephone poles 
at every four-way stop. 

Last night the TV news showed
sarin-struck soldiers dying
on stretchers lined up in Syrian streets.

We also learned that Doctor X 
cut the necks of babies 
who lived too long to be abortions. 

Sometimes airplanes fall
out of their arcs, engines 
flaming fireworks into the sea. 

A high school boy found hanged
last week wrote 100 letters to himself
and hid them in his locker. 

The post still delivers
bills and letters
for people no longer here. 

We blame caffeine 
or bovine growth hormone 
for the riven cells of cancer.

We can still hear the earth's
first scream in the white noise
static of the radio.

It's not what you believe
that counts, it's what comes
to you at night when your windows are locked. 

The sea falls off the edges
of maps, our dragons curled warm
and waiting in our hearts. 

There's no medusa, but
given time, everything we touch
will turn to stone.
Grant Clauser is the author of two poetry books, Necessary Myths (Broadkill River Press 2013) and The Trouble with Rivers (Foothills Publishing 2012). Poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, Cheat River Review, The Good Men Project, Mason's Road, Painted Bride Quarterly, Seattle Review and others. He also writes about electronics, teaches poetry at random places and chases trout with a stick. Grant's blog is

more by Grant Clauser:
It Could Be Worse
A Tarot Reading