by J. L. Hoy
by the movie, it was after 1 AM
the bedroom walls rang with questions.
loyal tube was on, and on that night
was The Mummy’s Wrath.
I told you it was lunacy to enter
Now we are all destroyed, Allah preserve
hall was lit, the stairs and porch as well—
made agreeable. One bedside light
up the Glock just at my elbow.
It’s only the walls settling a bit,
there hasn’t been
fresh air down here for centuries,
Really, Aziz . . .
course you see it coming, like it must,
sinister conglomerate of dust,
briefly they are innocent of it.
My God! My gun Aziz! Be careful
Six shots are fired.
Effendi, it still comes
native guide dies first, unarmed, underpaid,
then the doctor fights it with his fists
I’ll send this devil back—by God
Take that! Run Sybil! Get out while
she opens up a crumbling scroll.
is knocked out, and she makes out the words of death.
The mummy stops, drops James.
Their eyes meet, each afraid, woman
creature disengages a small piece
cloth and pulls, unraveling itself.
its empty face is dust. It waits, it drifts
to the floor. But even now
looks afraid, so far from home, and lost,
such a mess. She goes to James
but then the car, the door,
coat unzipped, a creaking on the stair
me, still up and waiting for him there.
J. L. Hoy had a Poem
Week published on the Light Magazine website. Another
poem was named a Notable Poem in the Gemini Magazine 2018
Poetry Open competition. J. has worked as a traveling English teacher, an
archaeologist, and a pilot, most recently in the oil fields in the Gulf of