Current Currents rage from Brooklyn to a press room in a white house.

Cur·rent  /ˈkə-rənt/

: a body of water or air moving in a particular direction
: rate of flow of an electric charge; ordered movement of electrically charged particles

: existing or occurring at the present time
: course of events or opinions prevalent at the moment

At 3:00 pm,
four friends pivot
out the school gate
then up Franklin Avenue,
fingertips stained with Cheetos dust.
Unruly shadows under a solstice sun,
going down over President Street.

At the corner,
the tall-for-his-age one whispers a joke.
Glee twists on gusts to policemen’s ears
who hear the barks of family dogs,
that gnaw at children and had to be put down
in the backyard they used to play in.

Currents rage from Brooklyn
to a press room in a white house
where Mary Ryan questions a President,
who hears the same bark that policemen hear.
Ryan’s question repeated,
a strident snarl in his uncouth ear.

Riled, he roars: “Sit down!”
And the journalist sits
lest she be put down,
a dog that tried to play with fancy guests
at a dinner party
where they don’t like dogs.

K. Herman was born in Tobago. A. K. writes fiction and poetry and was shortlisted for the 2009 Commonwealth Short Story Prize. A. K.’s writing has appeared in Doek! Literary Journal, Small Axe Journal, Aster(ix) Journal, Lolwe, Isele Magazine, and others. A. K. lives in New York and is working on a novel.

Cover Image: Joshua Armstrong on Unsplash.