Yesterday I lost my heart. Today I see some woman paying bus fare with it. As the driver makes change, a purple flower blooms round as a button on his pants. “That’s mine,” I say, but he only shrugs and drives away.
Cheddar revved them like cocaine does us. After their spaceships disappeared, we wallowed in the absence of our friends, not knowing their holds glowed orange. Goudas and muensters spread wide in our grocery store dairy cases remind us daily of their betrayal.
We asked our sonorous ship to call out, to sing her silent aria so the notes would chase each other into the chasms of the lake, returning only when they’d found you hiding beneath three hundred sixty-five feet of shimmering viridian crepe.
We stand a pool’s length apart. Bow ties bring bruschetta on dainty plates. Sixty-three rooms filled with happier couples are stacked under our feet and you’re only aware of the blonde that might touch your forearm. The wind swells, smells of ozone.
For months Damon has stalked the office hallways like a gray suited bomber, shooting down smiles with icy scowls. We, his coworkers, await the shelter lady’s inevitable visit when she’ll hand him a lop-eared puppy and he will melt to the floor.
(photo credit: gratisography.com)
I craved something sweet, so I ambushed a village marooned in orchards. My pulpy prey stopped dead in his tracks to confront me but could only stammer before my fangs pierced rind. The tang of his blood hit me sweet as marmalade.
(photo credit: Sebastian Kostrubala/unsplash.com)
I see you outside the movies: hands coy in pockets, hair flirting with brow. The sight of my contraband Raisinets makes you roll your shoulders back and wink. You look like the king of the world. Oh, do I got it bad.
The man on TV dips his hand into a bucket of blue birthdays. Mother yelps after she sees mine written on the second ball. I say, “It’s alright, it means Benny can stay,” but she still hasn’t managed to look at me.
The only thing between Dad and his post-shift nap was the gelatinous mush on my plate. Mom tried distracting him, but his attention soon returned to me in my Oscar-the-Grouch bib.
“Nathan, I want those peas ate!”
“Well I want them six.”
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As I spread my work over the duvet, the fan begins its hum. The curious Manx sniffs around, then eases onto my chest. His purring vibrates through me. A feather of a nap floats in with the breeze, then I’m far away.
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