Front Porch Review
A literary magazine for the young at heart and mind

They travel in packs, deserted dogs
barking at their reflection in the moon.
The song of lightning sounds in them
but what booms like mountain thunder
is the drum of the heart.

The truth has chosen them to be its vessel –
as if rainwater chose this well, that ditch.
Urgent to be good, they spill on the ground
a seedless virtue, staining the soil
while they drink from the empty cup, refreshed.

I cannot seem to find the cup
of their honest brethren, but sip
the vinegar of watching waste.

The connoisseurs are everywhere.

By JB Mulligan

JB Mulligan has had poems and stories in dozens of magazines, as well as two chapbooks: The Stations of the Cross and THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS, and also has appeared in the anthology Inside Out: A Gathering of Poets. He writes because he has to write. He works in tech support, has a family, too many pets and not enough house, and enjoys.His e-mail address: JB Mulligan