Four on the Floor
The world would do well to be made more
of animal ear—that soft, that hot, that thin stuff
you rub for luck to stop shaking.
How was I to know the roving teens
dressed like a corporate retreat were a Home
-coming. It’s always some dance. Always
a disco ball with one missing rhombus
no one misses, save for me because
I am in fact that blank spot turning dimly,
truthfully, as a synth-groove
gasses one hundred youths
into believing—I’m sorry
but the back door just burst open,
left a dent in the fridge. Confident
it was the wind, but the dog going wild
as a timelapse mushroom won’t buy it,
no matter how many promises I whisper
in his warm ear—Excuse me
I must lift the pup to show him the proof. Oh, sure,
growl at the moon. Now I owe ten kisses
to his toes, eight more for the face. Happy days,
more of those.
***
Tyler Barton is a cofounder of Fear No Lit, home of the Submerging Writer Fellowship. His collection of flash fiction, The Quiet Part Loud, was published by Split Lip Press in 2019. Find his work in The Iowa Review, Kenyon Review, Gulf Coast, Wigleaf, and elsewhere. He lives in Lancaster PA where he works for an arts college and leads free writing workshops for residents of assisted living facilities. Find him at @goftyler or tsbarton.com.