poem in which i fantasize about taking direct action against my neighbor’s eagle screech motion detector
uninhibited by the visibility of daylight i take a baseball bat to the neighbor’s motion detector at 1:46 pm on a saturday!! i didn’t even know i owned a baseball bat until it appeared in my hands!! as i approach the beast it lets out its awful screech!! CAW!! CAW!! CAW!! listen to how afraid it sounds!! when it comes down to it every system has a weakness!! this one crumples as i rip my bat into the ground!! a violent crunch, then the thudding recoil!! it feels so good to hold the answer in my hands!! the tape keeps playing but its call is weak and skipped!! Cr-xx?AW!! Cr-xx?AW!! Cr-xx?AW!! at the sound the neighbors start pouring out of their homes to see what i have started!! some look reserved, others relieved!! i pound the bat another time into the soil, so hard it leaves a mark like lightning!! the tape plays again, even quieter, and i notice the neighbors coming closer, crossing the threshold of the yard!! some of them carry their own weapons!! fists and hammers and rolling pins!! as they approach the site of rebellion the tape gasps out a feeble call!! c–aw!! c–aw!! c–aw!! we descend on it in unison as if our actions were choreographed!! in perfect rhythm we whack the shit out of the all seeing eye, the piece of shit creature!! we take our turns!! hammer, rolling pin, BAT!! hammer, rolling pin, BAT!! until it is broken into shards as small as sand!! we carefully sweep them up, so that the birds will not swallow them, though this would be poetic too!! mechanical cannibalism!! against the artificial!! we never utter a word!! when the creature is smashed there is no more sound!! when we walk down the street it belongs to us again!! that night we hear music pouring out of every window!! in every language!! the rhythm of every song sounds exactly like: hammer, rolling pin, BAT!! hammer, rolling pin, BAT!! when we crawl into our beds, we can finally sleep at night!! we can finally sleep at night.
york street
after Hala Alyan
it was all so easy. someone brought a costume hat and we all took turns wearing it. it was halloween. we assumed we were on the same side. your roommate made garlic bread. i drank coffee at 8 pm and woke up sweating. i lived in 7 apartments. you lost all your clothes in a fire. another roommate kept guns in the house and didn’t tell anyone. i kissed a man who picked nightshade flowers. i didn’t expect it. he burned incense in his room to hide the smell. egyptian jasmine. he gave me an american fever. i never told him that i knew about the girl in his bedroom but i told a confessions page on the internet. i told you too. when we lived in different cities you called often. i liked driving even at night. i drove somewhere in seattle i had never been to find something i never found. then you called me. you said do you have a minute? i sat on a concrete block and tried to listen. that summer you were stuck above the sunset. you told me something awful about the men we used to love. i could have cried but i didn’t. i dried it all up and went storming down york street. chemical honey pouring out of the basement. even now i don’t cry much. god, forgive me, if you called i wouldn’t pick up the phone.
Samia Saliba is a poet from Washington State & a PhD candidate in American Studies & Ethnicity. She is the author of the chapbook conspiracy theories (Game Over Books, 2025) and her poems appear in Split This Rock, Apogee, AAWW, Mizna, and elsewhere. Find her at samiasaliba.com.
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