~
The Icarus Billboard
They nailed his wings to a billboard
outside of Pendleton, stretched out
side by side like two tattered
lungs, greasy feathers and oozing wax,
they sawed them from his back, tore
through bone and cartilage,
unable to tell it from wood and wax, or
see the boy trapped inside the legend
now the billboard can be seen
from the freeway, from the backseat
of every minivan, through the lens
of every disposable, eight dollar camera
and Icarus wears a raincoat to hide
the scars from the sun, as he sits
beneath the billboard, watching
teenagers climb the high metal pole to snap
a picture of themselves, press
their shoulder blades against the stiff, dead
wings, forever out of his reach.
~
Heidi Payne recently graduated from the University of Idaho with a B.A. in English-Creative Writing. She enjoys writing poetry, short stories, novels, and the occasional picture book about a pet tarantula. Her work appears in MoonPark Review.