This is the town where the dogs blend in with the pavement, where the air chokes with the smell of the pigs, and your neighbor greets you with wire gray hair and twisted teeth. Instead of hello, his mouth gives a grinding noise, metal on metal, intermittent.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This poem was selected from entries submitted to our Creative Challenge Series #3: Last Sentences, which required that the last sentence in the text must be used as given. Read other Creative Challenge winners. To find out how to participate, go to Creative Challenges.