Where Does it Go

 

“How can there be

such a deep, dark, hole,

so vast and wide, so clearly there,

yet hardly noticeable in the

middle of your forehead,” I asked.

 

“Hm?” said the man, “The Black Hole?”

 

“Yes, Sir, the black hole, smack dab

in the middle of your forehead,

sucking in all your hair, and skin,

muscle, and brain.

Yes Sir, that hole,” I said.

 

“I’ve had it since I was a kid.

Just one of those things I guess.

Some folks have moles or freckles,

I have a black hole in

my forehead,” said the man.

 

“I haven’t seen anything quite

like it,” I said.

I tore a corner of my newspaper and

gently floated it towards the hole,

it was quickly sucked in.

“Where does it go,” I asked.

 

“Where does what go,” asked the man.

 

“The black hole on your face. Where

do items go once they get sucked in,” I asked,

“Do they come out somewhere?”

I tried not to stare at the swirling infinity

furrowed across his forehead.

 

“This is my stop,” said the man as he stood

from his seat on the bus. I heard a faint

whooshing sound as he stepped past me,

and exited at the rear door of the bus.

I watched him as he stepped down onto the sidewalk.

 

A pigeon flew to close to him and was

sucked in to the black hole of his

forehead. A few lingering feathers in the air,

followed the bird into the black void.

No one else seemed to notice.

No one else seemed to care.