Regeneration Poem by Julie Bond
Regeneration
They have a generator up the street
because the power flickers at a cloud.
The surging rumble proves an indiscreet
reminder of their cellar, and the crowd
of cold cadavers, propped up under loud
flourescents buzzing like a waxing hive
for Tussaud masks. When thunder comes, I dive
into a book, turn TVs up, retreat
inside my head, afraid I'll hear the drive
start up, or never start. Flicker. Repeat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/5/2026 9:27:28 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
