The Things We Want Most

The buildings stand abandoned, tilt
at right angles, shifting sand dunes
slow waves for dead boats. Satellite
picture number one: flames flicker
in empty windows. People must

still be alive here, fighting for
some sort of piss-poor survival.
Satellite picture number two:
A group of men sit around a
fire. The tattoo craze has gone so

far that bare skin is the status
symbol now. The primitives flaunt
Harley buckles and beer can hats,
new holy relics in a pile
beside them: crumpled photographs
of refrigerators filled with condiments,

needlepoint samplers,
censers, silver candlesticks, and
life-sized oil paintings of Jesus.

Holly Day's writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, The Hong Kong Review, and Appalachian Journal, and her hobbies include kicking and screaming at vending machines.

Find more by Holly Day in the Author Index.