BE QUIET

People were scared outside. They heard me
screaming when I put my finger in the fan.

One man said it was like metal on metal
through a mic. No one could have sex for

a week. When I called out the window
to say everything was fine, someone hit me

with a rock and said, Be quiet. I held up
my finger stub and said, Don't blame me.







Jackson Burgess writes and studies in Los Angeles, where he co-edits Fractal Literary Magazine and Red Sky: a Literary Journal. His work is floating around places like Atticus Review, Vector Press, and Jersey Devil Press.