by John C. Mannone

They killed his friend; he escaped into the night-crowd carousing by the bonfire. His own shadow danced hot with guilt. Soldiers staggered into him. “Hey,” they said, “You’re one of them!” He pushed the drunks; hid his face, “Hell no. You’re nuts!” Those words searing his heart as a rooster crowed three times. Peter cried.

John C. Mannone has work appearing in The Southern Poetry Anthology (Volume VII, NC), Still: The Journal, Town Creek Poetry, Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, Negative Capability, Split Rock Review, Agave, Tupelo Press, The Baltimore Review, The Pedestaland and others. His poetry collection, Apocalypse (Alban Lake Publishing), is forthcoming. He won the the 2015 Joy Margrave Award for creative nonfiction. He’s the poetry editor for Silver Blade and Abyss & Apex, and an adjunct professor of chemistry and physics in east TN. His work has been nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry. Visit The Art of Poetry: