By Zmorg, the second planet from the Sun of Zmorg, the people had long since given up on pants altogether for the more efficient Shirt, long enough to cover their Unshaven Shames but made of a lighter lace, as Zmorg was a warm planet.
Tonight, the flesh acknowledges its episodes of panic.
How often it has bred a populace of anxieties & silenced
the aftermath. I uncork a Jack Daniels, nearly fill
a glass, address the glass with an interest that only
a pair of hungry eyes can afford.
first, it was an awkward elbow-bump
the kind of greeting that happens when both parties acknowledge
We have dirty hands
It was a cumulonimbus that woke Annalisa, too early. She moaned into her pillow, a good five minutes or so. Thunder rattled her windows and brain. Nausea raced up her throat. She rushed to the toilet.
“Fare thee well tequila,” she whispered, flushing. “Sweet journey.”
National data sourced from 2016 by the Brookings Institute shows that with the exception of a sharp decline during the Great Recession, white U.S. households have seen an average steady increase to their wealth since 1989, while Black and Brown households have seen almost none. Meanwhile, according to Pew Research Center, the overall disparity in wealth between rich and poor “more than doubled” over the course of that same period.
He went to the porch, lit a cig, and tried to think of the right words. But all he could think about were the erased words jumbled in the sink, surrounded by empty beer cans and a blanket of mold. Three drags latter he got up and fetched the crumpled paper. So then he went back to the porch and holding it by a corner, lit it on fire. One of the neighborhood kids played on his skateboard on the street. So that kid knows nothing about erasing and burning. Kid won’t even notice. So he held on to the paper until the fingers started to burn. Then he laid the blackened remains in the ashtray. Then he lit the tiny Achilles heel of the paper and watched the last bit turn to dust.
The clicking—click click click clicking all day and all night, the incessant click clicking of his mouse and mechanical keyboard, the same game from dawn until dusk ‘til his eyes grow heavy and then the click clicking slows but never stops.
I made a shooing gesture, but it was apparent he had no clue what I was doing. “Do you have a problem?” Again he didn’t respond. “I’m going home now. If that’s alright with you.” I began walking away, but my joints immediately cramped up. Mixed with the restless wind brushing against my cheek, I felt like vomiting.
FILM / Captain Canada's Movie Rodeo / October 2021 / Gabriel Ricard
Gabriel Ricard laments English remakes and the slew of dystopian films in October’s Captain Canada’s Movie Rodeo.
I’ll weigh plums, squeeze avocados
and all this time my son won’t be there
or anywhere. Or out there somewhere
eight-balling his way to heaven.
We all raise our glass in return except for Kip. Instead, he says, “Ev, we’re not falling for that one. Andy nailed your question, so you and your team imbibe!” “Plus, you used the word ‘d-r-i-n-k’ twice, Ev, so you d-r-i-n-k two more!” commands Andy.
A naked bulb cast light on a flimsy bed, a boxy black-and-white TV, and books by Spanish poets and French philosophers. The tiny sink spat rusty water, if any at all. Towels were as thin as bed-sheets. Did he mix up batches of mac and cheese on his hotplate? Heat Campbell’s Tomato Rice soup?
no use in fighting now
just glide baby
glide everywhere
no steps in the codes of silence
Sarah opens a can of tuna fish, strains the water off in the sink by compressing the can’s top. Eighty-nine cents at Price Saver. She picks at the salty tuna with a plastic fork, glances around her efficiency apartment. She thinks of those spaces in IKEA, the little houses, with all the marks of convenient living. Packed is a word for it. Coffin. Kitchen and living room together. Bathroom so small she can’t turn around. Bedroom big enough for a twin, maybe a full sized, but she doesn’t like cramping the space. She picks at the tuna. It is all smashed into the little can, dead flesh pressed up against itself. The single-serve coffee pot gurgles and hisses, steam rising from it and fogging the narrow kitchen window, one that wouldn’t be a good escape in a fire. She pours herself a cup of coffee.
Dressed her in her Sunday best, she looked in on her daddy, then headed down the stair. Her mother lifted Violet up so she could grasp the bell-pull. It tinkled inside. As footsteps came to the door, the girl retreated into her mother’s skirts.
There is comfort in watching the same different episode night after night (there are 22 glorious seasons!). Many people are suspicious and have very good reasons to kill the victim. They have terrible alibis, every one of them. They always “went home alone.”
I'm waiting for the UFO's. But you don't
know that. You don't know
Anything. What you know is what you knew.
And still other days, I embrace the silence
lingering around his brushed on blue-eyed gaze,
like the one dinner we shared.
Let’s agree on something small
enough to pocket when we tire
of fondling its many contours.