Category: The Game Itself

by Michael Gallowglas

Someday, years from now, I’ll be sitting
at the Brooklyn Center for Fiction,
working on some story or other,
and a sound will grow in the background—
soft at first, then it will rise and rise
until it will hit just the right frequency
as the fillings in my teeth. The fillings will buzz
into my mind, creating a whole new kind
of sound that will nearly drown the screams,
screams that will draw everyone outside.
Screams that will draw everyone down
to the East River. Dread Cthulhu himself
will rise from the waters intent
on destroying New York City as his conquest.
His first target will be Lady Liberty.
He’ll break our spirits by breaking that monument.
A bright flash will appear in the sky,
only, it won’t go away, that flash, bright
as the sun, and Gregorian, rag-time hymns
will drown the alien frequency buzzing
through our fillings and into our minds.
A spiritual subway car will fly out
of that perpetual flash, carrying
Jackie Robinson and Babe Ruth from Heaven.
Those two legendary swingers will leap
out of that spiritual subway car and swing away
with their holy baseball bats of righteousness.
Cthulhu won’t stand a chance. Those sluggers
will slug dread Cthulhu back to the depths
chunk by battered chunk, and I’ll head back
to the Brooklyn Center for Fiction
and finish working on some story or other.

From his collection Cameos, which will be released May 28.