Billy’s Drums — K. Hunt

Were loud
So loud
No matter how hard you hit them
They would not shut up

In the solid meter of night
A rent
In the fabric of his sleep
Would alert him to the sound
Of his snare
Turned prowling carnivore
Rumbling iambic
Like heavy footsteps
Punching holes in quiet

It was then
In the puzzling moments of solo
Before the crash
He would reconnoitre
With the warmth of his mother’s skin
Felt skin brought to tension
Uncovering a roaring silence
A silence that scattered sounds into cracks in walls
Kept little boys awake

Echoed for a ten count
A cold, damp, tangled tango