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Cyril Blythe Nov 2012
Janie pushes the metal book cart back into its parking space in the Document Delivery Department of the St. Louis Public Library and hangs the last sticky note for October 30, 2012 on the wall by the head of the department’s closed door. She retightens her brown scarf under her chin, tucking the wispy hairs above her ears back into hiding. Having your hair begin to prematurely gray as a teenager has dramatic effects on a person. Her mother wore scarves around her wrists when Janie was growing up and when Janie begin to wear scarves to conceal her salt-and-pepper hair, her mother just smiled. The clock hanging on the wall above the children’s section reads 11:28pm.
Two more minutes.
She reorganized the pens and books on her desk and set the box reading NOTES onto the right corner or her desk with three blue pens and a stack of note cards. Her coworkers learned fast that Janie does not like to talk. She does not like eye contact. She loves the silence, and never ever to ask her about her hair. Her manager gave her the NOTES box after about a month of horrible miscommunication and everyday it fills with requests for books or tasks that Janie has to complete. She completes the tasks one by one, alone, in her back office in the Reference Department and hangs the completed sticky notes on the wall by her manager’s door. She works the night shift and locks the library up every night. When she’s alone she can talk out loud to herself and those are the only voices she cares to hear.
“Goodnight, books. Good night, rooms.” Janie shut the heavy wooden door to the library, placed the color-coded keys in the front right pocket of her jacket, and began her walk to the bus stop one corner away. She avoids the main road, taking her first right onto a side street that she knows would spit her out right beside the bus stop.
“Goodnight Taco Bell Sign. Goodnight Rite-Aide. Goodnight Westside Apartments. Goodnight Jack-o-Lantern smile.” She stopped in the middle of the alley and peered up at the Jack-o-Lantern grinning down at her from the third story window above. “Mother wouldn’t’ve liked your smirk, Jack. She would’ve slapped that **** right off your face.” Janie, satisfied the pumpkin was put in its rightful place, smiled as she trotted on.
“Mother carved smiles into her arms and that’s why Daddy left, it is, it is.” She kicked at a crushed Mountain Dew can as she remembered that night from years ago.

“Mommy?” Janie pushed opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and saw the moving-boxes torn open and all their contents scattered across the floor. She tiptoed through piles of scarves and silverware and corkscrews until she reached the bathroom in her mom’s room.
“Come to us like rain, oh lord, come and stay and sting a while more, oh lord…” her mother’s voice was slipping off the tiled bathroom walls. Janie pushed open the door and saw the blood for the first time pouring from her mother’s wrist. Her mother was naked and perched on the bathroom sink, singing to a red razor blade.
“Mommy?”
“GET OUT!” Her mother jumped from the counter and perched on all fours on the floor. She began to growl and speak in a voice too deep to be coming from her own throat.
“Mommy! It’s Janie!” She began to cry as her mother, still naked and bleeding, twisted and writhed onto her back and began to crawl towards the door that Janie hid behind.


“Thirty-Three percent, dear. Just a thirty-three percent chance.” She shivered trying to clear the last memory of her mother with the words that all the shrinks had echoed to her over the years. “Schizophrenia is directly related to genetics, little is known about the type of Schizophrenia mother was diagnosed with except that it is definitely passed on genetically. But, there is only a thirty-three percent chance you could have it, dear. Thirty-three percent.” The sound of the bus stop ahead reminds her it is time to be silent again.
“Disorganized Schizophrenia.” She mouthed to herself as she stepped back out onto the busy street from her alleyway. She tightened her scarf and saw the bus pull into the pickup spot. She walked forward to the bus, again immersed in her self-imposed silence.
Stepping out of the February cold, Janie removes her wool scarf as the bus doors close behind her.
“Where to baby?” The driver smiles a sticky smile. Her nametag reads, “Shannon” and has a decaying Hello-Kitty sticker in the bottom left corner.
“The Clinton Street drop.” She hands the driver her $2.50 fare and avoids the woman’s questioning eyes. The night drivers are always more talkative, curious.
“Your ticket hon.” She tears Janie a ticket stub. “Everything is pretty dead this late, I’ll have you there in ten minutes top.”
Janie begins to shuffle towards the seats, ignoring the woman.
“You mind if I crank up the music?” The bus driver asks, purple fingernails scratching in her thick blonde hair. “I need to keep my eyes open and blood flowing and music is my fire of choice you know?”
“Sure.” Janie shrugs her bag onto her shoulder and walks on before the woman can say anything else.
“Route E-2, homebound.” Shannon’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker.
She shuffles down the bus towards her usual seat; second from the back right side.  Shannon starts the bus rolling before she reaches her seat and Janie can hear her singing along to “Summertime” by Janis Joplin. The bus floor, today, is sticky because of the morning rain. Two years of riding public transportation has taught Janie that staring at the floor as she walks to her seat is better than the risk of making eye contact. The bus is usually empty this late but if there ever happens to be anyone else on, it’s better not to converse. Safer that way.
She plops into her seat filling the indention that ghosts of past passengers left. The seat is still warm and Janie squirms around until the stranger heat is forgotten. She tightens her scarf and sighs. The brown pleather seatback in front of her is peeling towards the top. Janie leans forward and idly picks at the scab-like dangles of brown as she watches the sodden city canvas roll past her out the foggy window. As she picks, the hole grows. She twists and digs her unpainted nails into the seat until her hands feel wet, warm. Looking down, they are covered in blood and mud.
“What. The. Actual. ****.” she whispers, wiping her hands on her pants leg. She cautiously picks off another piece of pleather and a trickle of deep red begins to run from the seat back, clumps of mud now falling onto her knees. A puddle of blood and mire splatter down her legs and pool around her feet as she picks at the seat. Her white tights are definitely beyond saving now, so she digs faster until her thumbnail catches on something, bends back, and cracks. She gasps and withdraws her shaking hand, watching her own blood mix with the clotting muck in the seat, half of her thumbnail completely stripped off.
Looking around, all else seems normal. The driver is now muttering along to some banter by Kanye West, completely unaware of Janie’s predicament. She closes her eyes.
This is a dream, this is a dream, wake the **** up.
She opens her eyes to see the pool of filth around her feet trickling towards the front of the bus. Panic sets in with a whisper, They’re going to think it was you, your fault, you’ll be thrown in jail.
“But I didn’t do this.” She lashes out to herself. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
Next stop, E-2. Shannon blares on the intercom.
“It’s just a dream, get your **** together, Janie.” She laughs at herself, manic.
Prove it! Her subconscious screams.
Convinced to end this moment she has to continue; Janie plunges her hand into the pleather grave one more time. Frantic and confused she laughs as she digs, spittle of muck splashing on her bus window.
Faster, faster, faster.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
Realer, realer, real.
Wake up, now!
Then, as the bus slows, one last chuck of mud splatters to the floor and Janie sees a pink piece of her thumbnail stabbed into the white of a bone in the bottom of the seatback pit. Her white Ked’s were becoming so red they were almost black. She pulls her knees up to her chest and begins to rock back and forth. Clenching shut her eyes she begins to hum. Janie’s sweet soprano harmonizes with the buses deep droning purr, their wet melody interweaving with the driver’s alto and Lil Wayne’s screech made her feel dizzy as the bus turned right.
She take my money when I'm in need
Yeah she's a trifling friend indeed
Oh she's a gold digger way over town
That dig's on me
The bus slows to a stop and the bass is shaking. Janie is cold. She slowly peeks out of her right eye, expecting to be instantly immersed into the same dismal scene. The seatback is whole again. Releasing her knees, her feet fall back to the floor and her shaking fingers stroke the solid pleather.

“Ma’am? We’re at the Clinton Drop.”
Janie hurriedly picks up her bag and flees down the aisle to the bus doors.
“Everything alright, dear?” The bus driver asks, smiling.
“Fine, just fine.”
“You be safe out there tonight. The night is dark and only ghouls stroll the streets this late.”  Shannon laughed as Janie’s jaw dropped. “Happy Halloween, dear. It’s midnight, today is October 31st.”
The bus doors opened and a cold wind ****** the warm bot-air surrounding Janie into the streets. She begrudgingly followed, her mind spinning as she stepped onto the pavement. The doors slammed behind her and she turned to see Shannon pull out a tube of lipstick and smear it, red, across her cracked lips. Shannon made a duck-face in the mirror and reached down to crank up the music as loud as it would go. The bus exhaled and rolled forward, leaving Janie behind as it splashed through the potholes.
She surveys the surrounding midnight gloom and the street is quiet and dark. Even the stars are hidden behind swirling clouds. She begins to hum, hands in her pocket, and shuffle towards her apartment.
“Goodnight, stars. Goodnight, street.”
As she approaches her single-bedroom apartment, digging through her coat pocket for her keys, her thumb pulsates. She grasps the keys and pulls them out as she steps up to the apartment. Sticking the cold, silver key in the lock she looks down at her thumb and in the shadows of the porch sees half of the nail completely missing. She laughs as she pushes the door open to her bare apartment, light flooding out. Without any hesitation she closes the door behind her, sheds her clothes, and slips onto the mattress in the corner of the room gripping her thumb tight. She reaches out for the glass of milk on the floor beside her bed from the morning and it’s still cold. Nursing the milk, surrounded by blankets and solitude, she reminds herself,  “Only a thirty-three percent chance. A nice, small, round number. Small.”  
She sets down the empty glass and curls into the fetal position under the heavy blankets, pointer finger tracing circles on her thumb. Only when she has heated her blanket cocoon enough to feel safe does she remove her scarf and allow her thick white hair to fall around her face.
“Goodnight, room. Goodnight, mother,”
ink Nov 2014
I say hello
My nametag dangles from my lanyard
"Hello, my name is Liz
Pronouns are kye/kyr"
it says

They see the lanyard
and they laugh.
"Those aren't pronouns!"
they say
"She is messed up."

Shut up.

A 300lb woman
looks into the mirror
she sighs
remembering her peers' words
"You should lose weight."
"You're very overweight."
"Your obeseity is your fault."

A 75lb woman
looks into the mirror
Her anorexia laughs
remembering the 300lb woman she used to be
her peers then tell her
"You need to gain weight."

Shut up. Shut up.

The boy hides his face
Not giving the teacher eye contact
The teacher calls his name
His stomach flips upside-down
She called on him on purpose
he just knows it

In front of the class
expectant, judgemental eyes glaring
Instinct tells him to run
He looks at his notecards
All he sees is chickenscratch
The teacher hangs her head in disappointment
and growls
"Just sit down if you have nothing to say."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

A girl drags hersef through the day
Everything is black and white
Coming home to wild parents
Who hit her constanty
and then claim
"I love you."

Excuses, excuses.
For every welt, mark and bruise
But when she gets one on her face-
She had given one, too.
In fact, she had given many
How generous she was!
The police came and arrest the girl.
All she heard was
"Her mother is dead."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Take a breath
the girl tells herself
She goes to her parents
They stare, wide-eyed
at her dress, eyeliner and nails
they just stare.

She tells them
her new identity
They tell her
"Chris. You aren't a girl.
You're a boy."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

You read a poem
titled "Shut Up"
About the hardships
The unfair, the despair
of living life.

Please know
Opinions don't matter
If you are happy,
who cares what they think?
If they criticize you
Just smile
and say

Shut up.
You are valid.
Please do not let anyone tell you otherwise.

You'll be okay.
Shari Forman Mar 2013
… “Ready Scarlett; one, two, two and a half, three,” said dad looking as proud as ever.

It was my eighteenth birthday, the one and only year that I finally would graduate from High School. The ecstatic moment when I get my diploma and the rush I would get from wanting to rapidly pursue my career. I knew that I’d surely get a scholarship in life science, all about animals. The one and only thing that blockaded my chances of having a future life was me having to suffer from diabetes and few heart problems. Other than that, I was in for all new surprises.

“Scarlett Perkins, would you now gracefully make your way up for your diploma.”

The principal of the school should’ve spoken louder so people could hear, but when I smiled, he got a warm feeling and smiled right back. I know I’m not supposed to make a speech or even say anything, but meaning I’m officially finished with high school and by law, allowed to live on my own, I thought I’d say something that my family would never forget.

“Thank you Principal Williams.” “I will always strive to improve on what I struggle with the most. I am proud of myself as an honor student and will always think positively. Whether it’s finding a cure for my heart problems, leaving my best friends behind to let them pursue their careers, or finding someone to love and to cherish for the rest of my life; preferably Jewish and good looking…

Audience laughs

“I will work up to my very best and even further if possible. Thank you all for your time.”

Audience claps and cheers me on.

“Well, time to go to sleep ladies and gentleman, as the day is officially now over.” “I’m really proud of you Scarlett. You sure have the guts to get up there and give a fantastic speech, you see, I have barely any guts left; kids beating me up in your grade, but overall, I’m good.”

All I could do at that point was listen and smile at his humorous jokes.

It was a long car ride home with the window ajar and my mom having to stop short at every yellow light. It is just her thing now a day’s. My brother, James, was wearing his usual, yet casual, short-sleeved shirt with coterie shorts.

I had to open the window fully as if the humidity increased
about ten percent in the last few minutes. My graduation gown made me sweat even more and feel much overheated. My mom was wearing her new, loose fitting blouse with jean shorts. I would have to admit, my dad looked rather cool with his dark shades on even though it looked as if it was impossible to see through them.

“I’m very proud of you Scarlett. Hey, who knew that such a bright girl could make a speech like that,” said dad.

“Thanks dad, it wasn’t that hard to make a speech like that. I was more excited then nervous,” I said.

“So Scar, who’s having this graduation party honey?” Said mom.

“Mom, it’s just going to be a party with my close friends and maybe a few kids from school. Jake said he might be able to come too.”

“Ooh, Scarlett and Jake…” said my brother.

“Are you really going to be that immature on my graduation day?”

My brother and I always end up arguing about something. James lay back, looking relaxed while listening to his I-pod.

We arrive home at about once thirty eager to see our grandparents whom we haven’t seen in ages. They were on my dad’s side of the family.

“Hey, what’s cooking mom, dad?” said Dad.

Mom and dad both walk over to greet grandma and grandpa as well as James and I.

“My James, you’ve gotten so tall since I last saw you. Oh, and older too”, said grandma.

“Yeah, I just turned fourteen a couple of months ago,” said James.

“And who have we here?” “Happy eighteenth birthday Scarlett.” said Grandma.

… My friends pick me up at about six at night. They are the kind of friends that you would call very fortunate. Chelsea’s car is a silver Honda that costs close to the amount of $20000. To tell the truth, I don’t know how and where she gets that kind of money from as only a teenager. I know only one thing; she doesn’t have a job yet.

I got my first and only job about a week ago at a pet shop explaining to people how to care for certain animals.

“Chelsea, how long is the party till?”

“Till around ten,” replied Chelsea.

“How many people are going to be there,” I asked.

“Don’t worry so much Scarlett; they’ll be about twenty of the people from school that we know.” Said Tory from the backseat of the car

“Okay, no more questions.” I said. “Party it up baby!”

Chelsea, Tory, Veronica and Katy all smile and laugh at my remark. I smile as well.

We all arrive at the party ten minutes later. She was right on account of about twenty other graduates from school there. After all, Chelsea’s house looked spectacular!

She had a sign with big letters saying, “We’re the 2005 graduates!” Boy I felt so proud of myself and for once, relaxed.

“So I think It’s really cool that you are interested in animals. I love that subject as well. Great speech Scarlett!” said a girl named Rachel from school

“Thanks a lot Rachel,” I replied as I went to get a cup of water.

Something slowly wrapped around me as I was pouring a glass of water.

“Whoa, you scared me there for a second.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m that much of a creeper Scarlett,” replied Jake.

The DJ (graduate) started to play some popular, current music in which we could all dance to. I head with Jake to the center of Chelsea’s enormous living room to go and dance with everyone else. I knew Jake for a long time now and he definitely out danced everyone on the dance floor with his cool moves.

The music started to get so loud that I couldn’t hear myself talk or even think for that matter.

“Hey Katy and Veronica, I’m going to go outside for a little bit. Can you please tell Chelsea if you see her?” I said.

“What’d you say?” said Veronica in a loud tone.

“Never mind.” I replied.

I took a couple of steps, then straight to the ground while holding my chest. Jake ran over to me like lightening.

“Scarlett, are you okay?” “Scarlett, Scarlett, Scarlett!” cried Jake with fear in his eyes.

It eventually got to the point where I fully blanked out, not being able to hear or see a thing.

...When I woke up, I was a little scared and baffled as to where I was and what happened. I further noticed my mom and dad looking as nervous as ever by the look of their faces, and my boyfriend Jake coming towards me frantically.

“Oh, my God Scarlett, are you alright? You look so pale sweetheart,” said dad softly.

“What happened honey? Do you feel dizzy or motionless? Said mom extremely worried.

“Did I blank out or something? Oh, I feel so dizzy and I have a migraine.” I said helplessly.

I moaned hopelessly and tried falling back to sleep. That didn’t work because I also had another part of emotion on me and that was guilt. I felt terrible that I ruined the most important party of my life, and possibly, the last party I’ll ever go to.

“It’s going to be okay Scarlett. I’ll ask the doctor to give you some Advil for your headache and please try to get some rest. Try not to think about the pain in your chest.” said Jake.

I know he was trying to be nice to try and help me and cheer me up, but visualizing pain in my chest felt painful to me and I tried not to cry.

He smiled at me holding my hand. I smiled back at him hugely.

“I’ll be right back sweetie.”

About five minutes later, the doctor came to check up on me.

“Hello Scarlett; Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, I’m doctor Isenman.”

“Nice to meet you said dad.”

“I’m just going to ask you Scarlett, how much pain do you have from one to ten?” said the doctor.

“Eight, I replied without any enthusiasm; my head still on my pillow with my eyes shut.”

The doctor turned from having a smile to a serious frown. The doctor told me to drink a lot of water to prevent the suffrage of dehydration. Dr. Isenman also told me to take it easy and try to relax for the next couple of days. I vowed to take his advice because he was definitely right.

“Scarlett, you have a very high fever of 103.5. I want you to drink every cup of water to ease the fever.” said the doctor.

“Okay,” I said without lifting my head or opening my eyes.

As the doctor leaves, I see Jake coming back with Motrin in which he probably got from one of the nurses and an ice pack.

“Put this on your head scar to ease the fever.” said Jake.

“Thanks for staying with me Jake, but you don’t have to stay much longer. You should go home and rest.” I said.

“I want to stay with you though.

He paused.

“I don’t know if now would be a good time to tell you that I got a scholarship in football for the whole season; but, I did.” said Jake.

“Wow Jake, that’s amazing; very impressive. You’ll be the star quarterback.” I said.

“I hope so; thanks Scarlett, and one night in the hospital couldn’t hurt, right?” said Jake.

“Nope.”

… “How are you feeling baby?” said mom.

“It’s morning already, I’m feeling much, much, much better now!”

“That’s very, very, very great.” said dad.

Jake walks up to me with a grin on his face.

“So I heard you’re feeling better?” said Jake.

“Yeah, I’m feeling good.”

“So I was thinking, how about just you and I see your favorite singer, Billy Joel, in concert this Saturday.” said Jake.

He pulled out two tickets from his front pocket and my face enlightened greatly.

“Oh, my God! Are you serious? Thank you so much Jake! That sounds like a terrific idea! Thank you so much; this was so nice of you.” I said.

“You have to have some fun after a miserable; well half miserable birthday.” said Jake.

“You’re the nicest guy I ever met Jake.”

He leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. We both smile and my parents, brother, Jake and I, walk out of the hospital very serene and calm.

The next day, I found myself working overtime in Joe’s Pet Shop. I was already used to all the animals there and treated them as if they were my own pets. One of the animals, a puppy, I had a very strong connection with and knew very well.

A lady walked in the pet shop with a girl that looked about my age, if not, older.

“Excuse me Scarlett, can I take out that puppy just to play with?” said the girl.

She scared me for a second when she called me by my name, but then I realized I had been wearing a nametag.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”

“Thanks, do you live around here?” she asked.

“Yeah, I live right near the mall. Michigan’s great.” I said.

“Yeah, I agree.

“Do you go to high school here?” I asked.

“That’s great; I just graduated from high school here about two days ago.”

“Wow, congrats! Oh, sorry; when I talk it can be forever. My name’s Amanda.” She said.

I laughed at the thought of her when I was the one who’d talk till sun down.

“So here’s our little puppy.”

Soft and not afraid, one who would strongly adore all thee who gave it no arm; all affection and this little puppy grew with happiness every time.

Five minutes later, my companion and I settled down on the smooth carpet, chatting intensely.  I nice, lonely girl she was, or assumed to be, and my companion and I went to extraordinary places; unforgettable times I shall cherish for the rest of my life. The park, where children jumping around of all sizes, smiled of the excitement, no stress, of their day. As I listened deeply to my companion, she had something wrong with her as well. Not just any sickness for that matter, diabetes, the poor thing suffered from. I now knew, my friend and I had much in common; she felt as a younger sister to me in a way; a good way.

… The next day, my lover, Jake and I were walking eagerly to the C.L.D.I. Stadium in Michigan.

“Are you excited Scarlett?” said Jake, nearly alarming me there.

“Yeah, definitely.” I responded with all emotions there.

On the way to the concert, I told him aout my friend and how she was like a close companion to me. She was a nice, clean girl with a bright future.

“This concert is amazing Jake!”

“What’d I tell you.” And to top it all off, front row seats.” said Jake trying to sound cool.

All of a sudden, right before my very eyes, the place turns pitch black, the lights flickering on and off; showing different colors all at once. This was something I wasn’t used to at all.

Jake started getting up and singing and dancing to the music. His dancing was cowardly, but his singing was reasonably good. He got me to my feet and started dancing with me when there were fun and slow songs.

Halfway through the concert I got a phone call from my friend. She sounded as if she couldn’t breathe the whole time. The words I could make out were “Can’t breathe… help and Joe’s Pet shop.

“I have to go Jake; I’m very sorry. Thank you for inviting me, but this is an emergency. Bye Jake.” I said quickly.

As I ran out of the stadium to my car, I drove my stick shift car with full speed ahead. Honking my horn to make cars go faster didn’t seem to work well, but I got there in less than ten minutes.

About fifty police cars were lined up near the pet store. The sound of sirens of a police car going off gave me butterflies. And, right before my eyes lay my companion dead on the ground. In total shock I was, having chills at the moment. Amanda’s parents were crying while their dearest daughter had been taken to the hospital. I knew right then and there… She wasn’t coming back. My good friend, my nicest friend, had died before my eyes and she wasn’t coming back.

… At the hospital, I viewed nurses and doctors trying to pump her chest with air and taking her blood pressure. Everything was spinning inside my head and I didn’t know what to say.

… There was no pulse, the doctor told her parents as I was praying for her. My friend, Amanda, had done nothing wrong to deserve this. Luckily, God spared my life, yet, there was nothing to be done to spare my friend’s life.
Shari Forman Feb 2013
… “Ready Scarlett; one, two, two and a half, three,” said dad looking as proud as ever.

It was my eighteenth birthday, the one and only year that I finally would graduate from High School. The ecstatic moment when I get my diploma and the rush I would get from wanting to rapidly pursue my career. I knew that I’d surely get a scholarship in life science, all about animals. The one and only thing that blockaded my chances of having a future life was me having to suffer from diabetes and few heart problems. Other than that, I was in for all new surprises.

“Scarlett Perkins, would you now gracefully make your way up for your diploma.”

The principal of the school should’ve spoken louder so people could hear, but when I smiled, he got a warm feeling and smiled right back. I know I’m not supposed to make a speech or even say anything, but meaning I’m officially finished with high school and by law, allowed to live on my own, I thought I’d say something that my family would never forget.

“Thank you Principal Williams.” “I will always strive to improve on what I struggle with the most. I am proud of myself as an honor student and will always think positively. Whether it’s finding a cure for my heart problems, leaving my best friends behind to let them pursue their careers, or finding someone to love and to cherish for the rest of my life; preferably Jewish and good looking…

Audience laughs

“I will work up to my very best and even further if possible. Thank you all for your time.”

Audience claps and cheers me on.

“Well, time to go to sleep ladies and gentleman, as the day is officially now over.” “I’m really proud of you Scarlett. You sure have the guts to get up there and give a fantastic speech, you see, I have barely any guts left; kids beating me up in your grade, but overall, I’m good.”

All I could do at that point was listen and smile at his humorous jokes.

It was a long car ride home with the window ajar and my mom having to stop short at every yellow light. It is just her thing now a day’s. My brother, James, was wearing his usual, yet casual, short-sleeved shirt with coterie shorts.

I had to open the window fully as if the humidity increased
about ten percent in the last few minutes. My graduation gown made me sweat even more and feel much overheated. My mom was wearing her new, loose fitting blouse with jean shorts. I would have to admit, my dad looked rather cool with his dark shades on even though it looked as if it was impossible to see through them.

“I’m very proud of you Scarlett. Hey, who knew that such a bright girl could make a speech like that,” said dad.

“Thanks dad, it wasn’t that hard to make a speech like that. I was more excited then nervous,” I said.

“So Scar, who’s having this graduation party honey?” Said mom.

“Mom, it’s just going to be a party with my close friends and maybe a few kids from school. Jake said he might be able to come too.”

“Ooh, Scarlett and Jake…” said my brother.

“Are you really going to be that immature on my graduation day?”

My brother and I always end up arguing about something. James lay back, looking relaxed while listening to his I-pod.

We arrive home at about once thirty eager to see our grandparents whom we haven’t seen in ages. They were on my dad’s side of the family.

“Hey, what’s cooking mom, dad?” said Dad.

Mom and dad both walk over to greet grandma and grandpa as well as James and I.

“My James, you’ve gotten so tall since I last saw you. Oh, and older too”, said grandma.

“Yeah, I just turned fourteen a couple of months ago,” said James.

“And who have we here?” “Happy eighteenth birthday Scarlett.” said Grandma.

… My friends pick me up at about six at night. They are the kind of friends that you would call very fortunate. Chelsea’s car is a silver Honda that costs close to the amount of $20000. To tell the truth, I don’t know how and where she gets that kind of money from as only a teenager. I know only one thing; she doesn’t have a job yet.

I got my first and only job about a week ago at a pet shop explaining to people how to care for certain animals.

“Chelsea, how long is the party till?”

“Till around ten,” replied Chelsea.

“How many people are going to be there,” I asked.

“Don’t worry so much Scarlett; they’ll be about twenty of the people from school that we know.” Said Tory from the backseat of the car

“Okay, no more questions.” I said. “Party it up baby!”

Chelsea, Tory, Veronica and Katy all smile and laugh at my remark. I smile as well.

We all arrive at the party ten minutes later. She was right on account of about twenty other graduates from school there. After all, Chelsea’s house looked spectacular!

She had a sign with big letters saying, “We’re the 2005 graduates!” Boy I felt so proud of myself and for once, relaxed.

“So I think It’s really cool that you are interested in animals. I love that subject as well. Great speech Scarlett!” said a girl named Rachel from school

“Thanks a lot Rachel,” I replied as I went to get a cup of water.

Something slowly wrapped around me as I was pouring a glass of water.

“Whoa, you scared me there for a second.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m that much of a creeper Scarlett,” replied Jake.

The DJ (graduate) started to play some popular, current music in which we could all dance to. I head with Jake to the center of Chelsea’s enormous living room to go and dance with everyone else. I knew Jake for a long time now and he definitely out danced everyone on the dance floor with his cool moves.

The music started to get so loud that I couldn’t hear myself talk or even think for that matter.

“Hey Katy and Veronica, I’m going to go outside for a little bit. Can you please tell Chelsea if you see her?” I said.

“What’d you say?” said Veronica in a loud tone.

“Never mind.” I replied.

I took a couple of steps, then straight to the ground while holding my chest. Jake ran over to me like lightening.

“Scarlett, are you okay?” “Scarlett, Scarlett, Scarlett!” cried Jake with fear in his eyes.

It eventually got to the point where I fully blanked out, not being able to hear or see a thing.

...When I woke up, I was a little scared and baffled as to where I was and what happened. I further noticed my mom and dad looking as nervous as ever by the look of their faces, and my boyfriend Jake coming towards me frantically.

“Oh, my God Scarlett, are you alright? You look so pale sweetheart,” said dad softly.

“What happened honey? Do you feel dizzy or motionless? Said mom extremely worried.

“Did I blank out or something? Oh, I feel so dizzy and I have a migraine.” I said helplessly.

I moaned hopelessly and tried falling back to sleep. That didn’t work because I also had another part of emotion on me and that was guilt. I felt terrible that I ruined the most important party of my life, and possibly, the last party I’ll ever go to.

“It’s going to be okay Scarlett. I’ll ask the doctor to give you some Advil for your headache and please try to get some rest. Try not to think about the pain in your chest.” said Jake.

I know he was trying to be nice to try and help me and cheer me up, but visualizing pain in my chest felt painful to me and I tried not to cry.

He smiled at me holding my hand. I smiled back at him hugely.

“I’ll be right back sweetie.”

About five minutes later, the doctor came to check up on me.

“Hello Scarlett; Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, I’m doctor Isenman.”

“Nice to meet you said dad.”

“I’m just going to ask you Scarlett, how much pain do you have from one to ten?” said the doctor.

“Eight, I replied without any enthusiasm; my head still on my pillow with my eyes shut.”

The doctor turned from having a smile to a serious frown. The doctor told me to drink a lot of water to prevent the suffrage of dehydration. Dr. Isenman also told me to take it easy and try to relax for the next couple of days. I vowed to take his advice because he was definitely right.

“Scarlett, you have a very high fever of 103.5. I want you to drink every cup of water to ease the fever.” said the doctor.

“Okay,” I said without lifting my head or opening my eyes.

As the doctor leaves, I see Jake coming back with Motrin in which he probably got from one of the nurses and an ice pack.

“Put this on your head scar to ease the fever.” said Jake.

“Thanks for staying with me Jake, but you don’t have to stay much longer. You should go home and rest.” I said.

“I want to stay with you though.

He paused.

“I don’t know if now would be a good time to tell you that I got a scholarship in football for the whole season; but, I did.” said Jake.

“Wow Jake, that’s amazing; very impressive. You’ll be the star quarterback.” I said.

“I hope so; thanks Scarlett, and one night in the hospital couldn’t hurt, right?” said Jake.

“Nope.”

… “How are you feeling baby?” said mom.

“It’s morning already, I’m feeling much, much, much better now!”

“That’s very, very, very great.” said dad.

Jake walks up to me with a grin on his face.

“So I heard you’re feeling better?” said Jake.

“Yeah, I’m feeling good.”

“So I was thinking, how about just you and I see your favorite singer, Billy Joel, in concert this Saturday.” said Jake.

He pulled out two tickets from his front pocket and my face enlightened greatly.

“Oh, my God! Are you serious? Thank you so much Jake! That sounds like a terrific idea! Thank you so much; this was so nice of you.” I said.

“You have to have some fun after a miserable; well half miserable birthday.” said Jake.

“You’re the nicest guy I ever met Jake.”

He leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. We both smile and my parents, brother, Jake and I, walk out of the hospital very serene and calm.

The next day, I found myself working overtime in Joe’s Pet Shop. I was already used to all the animals there and treated them as if they were my own pets. One of the animals, a puppy, I had a very strong connection with and knew very well.

A lady walked in the pet shop with a girl that looked about my age, if not, older.

“Excuse me Scarlett, can I take out that puppy just to play with?” said the girl.

She scared me for a second when she called me by my name, but then I realized I had been wearing a nametag.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”

“Thanks, do you live around here?” she asked.

“Yeah, I live right near the mall. Michigan’s great.” I said.

“Yeah, I agree.

“Do you go to high school here?” I asked.

“That’s great; I just graduated from high school here about two days ago.”

“Wow, congrats! Oh, sorry; when I talk it can be forever. My name’s Amanda.” She said.

I laughed at the thought of her when I was the one who’d talk till sun down.

“So here’s our little puppy.”

Soft and not afraid, one who would strongly adore all thee who gave it no arm; all affection and this little puppy grew with happiness every time.

Five minutes later, my companion and I settled down on the smooth carpet, chatting intensely.  I nice, lonely girl she was, or assumed to be, and my companion and I went to extraordinary places; unforgettable times I shall cherish for the rest of my life. The park, where children jumping around of all sizes, smiled of the excitement, no stress, of their day. As I listened deeply to my companion, she had something wrong with her as well. Not just any sickness for that matter, diabetes, the poor thing suffered from. I now knew, my friend and I had much in common; she felt as a younger sister to me in a way; a good way.

… The next day, my lover, Jake and I were walking eagerly to the C.L.D.I. Stadium in Michigan.

“Are you excited Scarlett?” said Jake, nearly alarming me there.

“Yeah, definitely.” I responded with all emotions there.

On the way to the concert, I told him aout my friend and how she was like a close companion to me. She was a nice, clean girl with a bright future.

“This concert is amazing Jake!”

“What’d I tell you.” And to top it all off, front row seats.” said Jake trying to sound cool.

All of a sudden, right before my very eyes, the place turns pitch black, the lights flickering on and off; showing different colors all at once. This was something I wasn’t used to at all.

Jake started getting up and singing and dancing to the music. His dancing was cowardly, but his singing was reasonably good. He got me to my feet and started dancing with me when there were fun and slow songs.

Halfway through the concert I got a phone call from my friend. She sounded as if she couldn’t breathe the whole time. The words I could make out were “Can’t breathe… help and Joe’s Pet shop.

“I have to go Jake; I’m very sorry. Thank you for inviting me, but this is an emergency. Bye Jake.” I said quickly.

As I ran out of the stadium to my car, I drove my stick shift car with full speed ahead. Honking my horn to make cars go faster didn’t seem to work well, but I got there in less than ten minutes.

About fifty police cars were lined up near the pet store. The sound of sirens of a police car going off gave me butterflies. And, right before my eyes lay my companion dead on the ground. In total shock I was, having chills at the moment. Amanda’s parents were crying while their dearest daughter had been taken to the hospital. I knew right then and there… She wasn’t coming back. My good friend, my nicest friend, had died before my eyes and she wasn’t coming back.

… At the hospital, I viewed nurses and doctors trying to pump her chest with air and taking her blood pressure. Everything was spinning inside my head and I didn’t know what to say.

… There was no pulse, the doctor told her parents as I was praying for her. My friend, Amanda, had done nothing wrong to deserve this. Luckily, God spared my life, yet, there was nothing to be done to spare my friend’s life.
Jeffrey Pua Feb 2015
My poems attest
That I lived
     As I
          For them.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Draft. Making sense out of palindromes.
4/12/17

At 8pm, it is the changing of hats
in assisted living
It is time I releive a woman
from sitting in the dark
waiting for our paycheck to die.
She survived one more shift.
it is my turn at this game of russian roulette.
I meet so many strangers this way,
Each night before I sit, and wait for doors to close
I take oppurtunity to watch one open
Ask the new surviver to tell me their story.
and Write them down.

she moved across the countrey
away from her sister
a divorce from her beleifs.
sister Against God.
I empathize
How hard to move across The world,
pack up your morals
move in with your ex sisters ex husband.
I promptly told her I was polyamorous.
That my lover moved to ireland
To live with her husband
Packed up everything
She did not flinch.
I held this stranger
as she cried on my shoulder
She
in the fifteen moments I saw her
Realized
the world of differences between us.
She can find comfort in solitude
never once knew what I thought
of her Morals
How In my family
we celebrate divorce
how all burning houses are Phoenix fires
abusers can nametag forever
nametag your body is my body
Nametag husband
I worry for her safety.
A woman who doesn't beleive
in the word stop.
Doesn't consider leaving
my biggest fear is those
afraid to weild the word no.
to close the door.

she closes the door
I sit in the dark to my journal
I write down this poem beside a dying man.
the next contestant releives me at 8am.
I pass her the revolver.
I have survived this round of russian roulette.
He died the next night
and it does not feel like winning.
I live in the world of
revolving doors and revolvers
I wish to be the bullet.
pass through their skull as they go
see what they were thinking
In that last moment.
Eryck Jun 2018
The alarm clock rings
and once again
the rooster sings
the morning new.
Slumbering flowers
lift their petals to drink
the drops of dew.
  Reliable Sun
vanquishes the darkness
as he lightens the sky.
  I see an honored guest
is in the garden,
his tiny nametag reads... butterfly.

       But on the other side of town
       someone struggles with
       addiction.

 Habits grab hard,
break will powers  in two.
The will becomes won't
and the power is all through.
Satiated,
temporaneously satisfied.
only till the next time the habit has to be gratified.
The victim moves on trying to reassemble his day
Avoid
a crooked roaded relapse,
along the way.

Oh ghost of the host why must repitition repeat the most
and feel so good in its continuation?
Why must familiarity breed the need
for more familiar feelings?
To the point of killing control, sealing a fate,
dealing defeat,
stifle healing.

     If your out there guardian soul, spirit helper, what's your roll, your goal? 
 Guiding with helping hand or let stand the habitualized
habit man.

Isn't there  a self preservation station within?
A gland or impulse control button to switch from sin to win?

Even Edgar Allan Poe stubbed his toe on a ten step program trying to get in the door.
Ill-begotten and craven, drunken and unshaven cried the raven...never more.

Guiding spirit it ends here!         

No more slave to the crave
or impulse picking from the addiction tree.
The need to repeat and repeat
the pattern becomes a self fulfilling prophesy.

Back to normalacy, complacency,
it's a moderation that one seeks.
To enjoy the ****** of bells, hallalulah wails,
a babies dimpled cheeks.

Can you do that Spirit helper, please.
Let sing the bodies vibration.
 No more internal damnation.
No more self flagellation.
Allow to draw power from these words.
Think of this all as an intervention!
A tribute to Edgar Allan Poe who wrote the greatest of poems,"The Raven" and died young of alcoholism. Listen to Christopher Walken recite "The Raven" on you tube.
Frankie Jan 2013
Under supervision of the sun, his fingertips are full of love;
when he lives with the moon, hands form fists, the doors and walls have holes—
muscles catch fire:

trying to force infantilization,
sticking nametags to every available swatch of fabric hanging
from her bony frame.

Her skin is peeling like dried paint curls from the wall.
She brushes it down like pushing
up her sleeves, feigning
a tough exterior.

The bathroom door explodes: her palm
is to her mouth; four horse pills
sit uncomfortably on her squirming tongue—
fatalist palmistry.
A single blow to her thoracic spine
(vertebra seven through nine, to be precise)
and the tile floor is medicated with
slimy, secondhand acetaminophen.

Pale worn flesh meets rug burn between
the bathroom and the walk-in closet where
she will huddle on the floor, shaking,
shuddering,
tiny bones ready to crack—

strong arms wrap around and pull her close.
Frail child-size hands catch hundreds of tears ‘till
one big, calloused mitt takes over.

His hand is to her little pink lips and
a tiny cold something tries to find a way in—
epiphany:

she greedily devours the lonely pill and
begs for the other three quarters
of her suicide.

Cynical laughter denies her pleas;
her lungs rip stale air from
mothball collections stored upon the shelves,
from shirts hanging stiffly,
buttoned,
ready for action that never comes,
from pants that lay lazily across
cheap plastic hangers.

She siphons O2 with her windpipe:
heaving sobs, obnoxious wailing, disgusting, guttural noises,
black mascara tire tracks—
she would swear on anything that her ribs were going to give.

****
*****
****
*****
*******
stupid
******


Hazy home-video recordings on loop in her brain, the words
pound her body like hail and
the memories won’t leave. They’re bleeding
from her ears and eyes and her assailant stares on,
irritated.

“Drama queen,” he reminds her.

Same as always, she cries
herself sick, he tucks
her into bed. Morning sunshine
shows bruises and she hides them
in her sweater.

Another flimsy paper hospital accessory, more
radiology tech jokes about her clumsy
hands, her butter-fingers.

And when asked her name, there’s
hesitation
‘cause she’s got to remember which nametag
he let her wear today.
JJ Hutton Dec 2012
Funny. I have a similar problem. When a waitress drops in to take a drink order, I can never look her in the eye. Guilt, I suppose. There’s nothing she’s doing for me I can’t do for myself. Legs work. Hands work. Let me walk to the water dispenser and press the glass into it. Let me pick up my food. Let me carry it to my table. You take it easy, sweetheart. So, instead of meeting her pupils, I find myself reading and re-reading her nametag. A silent mantra. Tara. Tara. Tara.

Thank you for saying I should be “held by my edges.” That’s a candy-coated take on the truth. A more accurate description would have been “*******.” Oh, the toxic mix of shame, alcohol, and letter writing. I’m a new man, though. Cologne and everything. I’m even done drinking. Well, after I finish this beer. Still had one in the fridge. Anyway, I’m sorry.

No, women like Heather don’t disappear cleanly. Or with grace. In the silent moments, she always looked at me like I might hit her. She’ll probably tell friends I did. Everyone enjoys a good story. She called Friday. Said she’d taken some X. Dancing on her couch. I could join her or just watch. I just hung up. Did I tell you she’s really into Anime? And she attaches faux foxtails to her belt. I’m not sure if one of those traits is responsible for the other. Wish she didn’t know where I lived.
life nomadic Jan 2013
Black plastic nametag with white letters,
slightly off-white and not-so-flat from a trip or two through a bachelor's dryer.
I remove it from the bottom of the washer, lightly ******* the engraving,
and ask what's your middle name, this letter T?

From the kitchen you say, my grandmother named me,
with a private grin.
She might have been kinda drunk.
Walking behind me, your caramel-rich low voice soft in my ear,
TsuneoKawehiwehiokekuwahiwionouaioku'uhome.
(saying with careful pronunciation)
Tsu-nay-o-Ka-vay-hee-vay-hee-oh-kay-ku-va-hee-vee­-on-oh-vay-ee-o-ku-u-**-may
and I was just sent

No, she wasn't drunk, she knew exactly what she meant.
Kapunawahine, holding her little mo'opuna kāne,
sensed your father was restless with rock fever,
would be moving away to the mainland with her first grandson soon, so she says to you
*This land of water and rainforest trees of the mountains, Hawaii, will always be your beloved home.
.
.
Copyright © 2013 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
we've met before

We took some time off work, to meet for lunch. A flight of stairs down from the sidewalk.  A basement
coffee/book shop with ubiquitous old-Seattle esprit.  Our easy conversation passed hours like minutes.

No, we met first on the sidewalk. I thought it was you because you were standing, waiting, looking at your
phone, wearing a *(why are they all?)
oversized firefighter's jacket.  A man in uniform.

Actually, we met online.  I was curious, checking out the site.  Only one guy caught my interest, you
emailed me first.

But I think we've met before.  When I first saw your eyes, I recognized you from when we were infinite.
I saw the deepest, clearest water and peace, a glimpse of life in love and summer sun.

...


The picture on the cover

4 dates since we met, 9 days on the calendar, each one a surprise.
a coffee date, mt biking, (you rented the best bike for me)
***** shooting (oh, you loved the sight of me with a gun)
visiting your dad discussing books and gardens, then a surprised brother;
God, you knew the best food for dinner tucked into small funky streets.

Then today, a hike. A firehouse lookout at 10,000'- scrambling boulders, a skinny precarious
ladder to the top.  The view is epic, cliffs fours sides, miniaturized trees way down,
sun rays to this warm spot on the wrap-around porch for lunch, tucked out of the wind.
The sandwich you made just right.  You had me at avocado.

Thin air and a delicious little bottle of sake from a wooden box-cup made us giddy,
trying to figure out that Japanese label, some cartoon figure of a victorious mean Samarai?
So we named it Kick-*** Sake, and I took a picture.
Then you asked me to marry you.
And I said yes.

...

She knew

A black plastic nametag with white letters,
slightly off-white and not-so-flat from a trip or two through a bachelor's dryer.
I remove it from the bottom of the washer, lightly ******* the engraving,
and ask what's your middle name, this letter T?

From the kitchen you say, my grandmother named me,
with a private grin.
She might have been kinda drunk.
Walking behind me, your caramel-rich low voice in my ear,
TsuneoKawehiwehiokekuwahiwionouaioku'uhome.
(saying with careful pronunciation)
Tsu-nay-o-Ka-vay-hee-vay-hee-oh-kay-ku-va-hee-vee-­on-oh-vay-ee-o-ku-u-**-may
and I was just sent

No, she wasn't drunk, she knew exactly what she meant.
Kapunawahine, holding her little mo'opuna kane,
sensed your father was restless with rock fever.
He would be moving away to the mainland with you soon, so she says to you,
*This land of water and special rainforest trees of the mountains, Hawaii, is always beloved home.
martha Apr 2016
For the first time since I can remember I felt like I was graced with the same regality as those who sit on thrones built from bricks of solid self-esteem, sealed with the plaster of confidence.

Every sweet silver tongued sentence that dripped from their mouths like honey helped to sow the seeds of yet another flower on my crown, blooming with the promise of an ever elusive beauty I have never had the honour of meeting before, until my crown blossomed with the sweetest scent and the prettiest petals you had ever seen.

These buds would encourage this forbidden nectar to fill in the gaps, to flow around and in between every crack and crevice in my self-polluted soul, mending, often overflowing leaving distinct pale pink kisses on the apples of my cheeks, and the dreaded dimple that is so often hidden would emerge from the shadows the moment that sweet nectar touched it and it was no longer afraid of showing.

Then you, sir, with your eyes shying from stardust could only speed the process, equipped with nothing but a rusty toolbox consisting of rosebud lips and blistered hands I know would never dare break my fragile stem, but be the foundations for my desperate, clinging vines to grasp so maybe someday I could taste the sunlight coating my lips, and veiling my skin the same way it did that one time I actually felt beautiful.

My legs were solid and strong, making just the right contact with the earth for me to keep my balance, my stomach a valley with just the right kind of hills and dips for my weary eyes to travel on, and I was blessed with a head held high paired with piercing eyes that only said that I wore all my flowers proud upon my crown.

Even if seeds of doubt still plant themselves in the caverns of your mind telling you that they will probably wilt the next day, you still water them with the tears you have left because ******* they are prettier alive.

Suddenly the sweet sound of ‘thank you’s echoed from my mouth to replace the bitter, constant taste of denial, and loathing took the form of loving and I embraced every second of it.

When someone at long last sees the galaxies in their own eyes and the pure luminescence of their soul, why must it be cruelly crushed by comments determined to blow them off course when they finally know exactly where they want to drop anchor, what is wrong if I decide to start with myself because I am living with me for the rest of my life and I realised I had better get comfortable. Self-respect, self-esteem, self-confidence, it all begins and ends with you, you are not just a chapter, you are the whole freaking book, so allow kind words to embed themselves in your skin and etch their outlines on your bones and it’s a pretty good way to start the first paragraph.

So let me be an empress, let me be a queen, no longer the princess of low self-esteem, rip off the nametag that reads ‘handle with care’ because you’re not breathing right you are not even aware of how much you are worth, step into your skin, accept every beautiful inch of you because you’re not going to win a battle where you fight by beating yourself, your body is not a warzone, but darling if you breathe in all the dirt you can take you’ll be exhaling the prettiest of flowers.

I know that it’s hard, but trust me, honey, you will grow so tall, you will blossom my friend, even though you may fall once, or twice while you climb.. keep your eyes fixed on that sun, and you’ll be just fine.
my first spoken word poem I performed last summer for the first time
Rollie Rathburn Feb 2016
Through the coffee steam your eyes were so clear they almost broke me in half.
I took a long selfish look as I told the side of your head about my mother.
You holding your gaze on my windshield
watching the wet lights blur one mile at a time.
Through the curls of your hair I heard you whisper that you didn’t want to leave.
Didn’t want to add your shoe size
to the prints leading away from the kid who’d see the inside of a coffin
long before he ever saw his family again.

I pulled over to force your hand through my sternum, pierced
each finger with a ragged heart tendril
built in the image of winter trees seeded far from the water line.
In this way, information is filtered.
Even with a cup tied to another cup by taut string,
you still don’t get a clear sound.

I shook my head, thinking of reasons to say your name. A taste like dusty paperbacks
flecked in cane sugar.
You got the boring name because your parents birthed you full of splendor,
knew you would never need the extra flourish of a conversation starting nametag.
The kind of person who deserves someone that will die of malnourishment if your plane ever goes down.

You’ve gotten soft old man,
You are no conqueror.
Will never drown out the roar in her 5 a.m.  mind,
can do nothing to comfort the black eyes
and longneck bottles left wandering her past,
with your piecemeal shards of charm and wit.

Part of your winter still clings to my dashboard and frosts my knuckles
each time my eyes close driving home, dreaming about painting red flags green.
Even after I watched the last drag curl out of your lungs,
you never tasted like smoke,
so I filled my lacerations with your nicotine
to hide inside your numbness,
while our bare skin rolled across sheets
looking for new cold
knowing this is not true sacrifice,
but perhaps my final squander.
JL Nov 2011
I went to a brand new town
Spread out across the desert like a prom queens legs

The place has one restraunt
The place has one gas station

I made a mental note to look em' all in the eyes.
The guy at the counter was human enough

His nametag said MIKE
Mike, your *** is mine

What'll it be boy
**** people who call me boy

Just this
bottle of water

That'll be a dollar, son
**** people who call me son

I pull out a dollar
well...a dollar that looked something like a Colt Python 357.

That put a damper on ol' mikes day
I bet that **** fool ****** himself

I wonder If he noticed the sunlight flickering off  guns mother-of-pearl handle
I sure did

Take all the money. Please just don't **** me
I don't want the money, Mike

He whimpered when I said his name
******* always do that

What do you want then.........
Mike, I want to **** you

Sure enough he had to have a reason
The worst ******' word in the world

Why

and its nemesis

Because

You want to **** me just because?
because why?

Right there I knew Mike would never get it
He would never understand...poor old mike

Your about to get a wake up call Mike
Your about to be free as **** and not know what to do with yourself

Mike stands there with his hands up shaking
At home his wife is talking on the phone to her sister about going up there on vacation

Mike says
Please I have a wife and kids

Please don't **** me
Please Please dear God don't **** me

Mikes daughter was making him a fathers day card with a glue stick and glitter
Mikes son was licking the **** of some girl. Parkeed out by the Big Red Rock.

Mike Listens
Mike wants to live

Listen Mike
I say cool calm and collected

Your about to get it mike
Mike imagines his wife reading his obituary

You are about to lose your own soul Mike
You know...gain the whole world

Your about to be free Mike
You are one of the lucky ones

No need to thank me once you've gone Mike
You just enjoy it

For a second Mike looked like he understood
like he mighta got it

Let that which is given
Become lost

Let that which is gained
Become lost

Let this ******* pig, ****, trash, ****-stained-matress of a life
Be put out with the Monday trash

Mike knew he was in for it
Done for

I asked mike if he wanted to die like a man
I looked him hard in the eyes

He said he sure did
I asked him if he was ready to do the work of the universe

The work of god
Yes I am

I hand mike the gun
and the first bullet takes me through the right eye

So slow I can feel the optic nerve sever
before I die

before I die
I see mike standing over me

Looking down at me
this giant bleeding hole in my head

Mike says thank you
I tell him...Hey Dont Mention It

After he empties the rest of the rounds into my head
Mike walks out into the desert

He walks to my car
Fills it with gas

and gets inside
right there on the seat where I left the

box of shells for him to find
reloading

key turn
engine crank

and the car pulls slowly onto the street
the car drives down the desert road

****, it sure feels good to be free
John May 2013
So I start my shift  
At 10 AM
Hours upon hours
Of nonstop movement
And running down to the basement
Bringing up boxes
Of candy
And cups
And popcorn bags

Constant flows
Of people
Customers
"guests"
So we have to call them
"You don't call over the next CUSTOMER
To your register
You call over the next GUEST."
So says my manager
OK, *****
"Next guest, please,"
I utter with a smile

Can't wait to leave
It's around 5:30 PM now
A solid
7 1/2 hours
Through
My 8 hour
Shift
I'm helping my manager
Satisfy guests
Not customers
Filling bags
When they say popcorn
And filling cups
When they say soda
"I'll just have some nachos,"
A man says
His wife stands next to him
She smiles at me
I smile back
He looks at me then
"And John, too,"
He says
"John looks like a nice kid."
I can't help but beam
Some type of dumb grin
I look down at my nametag
Adjust it a bit
The next guest steps up
And then I remember
How much
I just want to leave already
True story.
Shawn Awagu Dec 2019
The restaurant is quiet, relatively, the one that
Maya told you about yesterday at lunch
She and her boyfriend mentioned “Three’s Company”—
No not the show—
And how we should go out there sometime
“Yeah, maybe we should”
You said because you don’t know how to say no

The lighting is warm, like an Olive Garden
But there’s a draft on your neck and your hands are cold because there is no one standing next to you
You wish you were there instead; even though this place looks nice, you don’t know if it actually is
And you start to feel the vibrations

Before you psych out and walk out, you sit down at a table and wait for an underpaid waitress—
There she is—
“Hello, my name is Elif and welcome to Three’s Company. What would you like to order?”
You spot her nametag—
“Excuse me, would you happen to be of Turkish descent?”
Her eyes light up—
“Wow, how’d you know that? Everyone just thinks I’m American.”
Remember, she has to be nice—
“I like exploring languages cultures. I find it fascinating that we’re all the same, yet so radically different in our own way.” This doesn't actually make sense, but it sounds interesting.
Her eyebrows dance. Cute—
“Well Mr. Philosopher, what can our establishment provide for you today?”
Quick, glance at the board—
“American Classic. No pickles”
“Coming right up!”

Her pen damages the atmosphere for a few moments, and then she’s gone
You almost feel like you’re human until you remember she’s underpaid to smile and small talk
And your hands start shaking again; look I’m sorry kid
I like you
But you’re not much company
HI DUDES

THIS IS THE MANY SIDES OF DAD, FIRST HE WILL BOP TEACHING US MUSIC

OF HIS TIME, AND THEN TELL US TO EAT NICELY AT THE DINNER TIME

HE WOULD SING, OH ROSIE, LET’S DO THAT FOR THE BOYS

COME ON SUSIE, ROCK AND ROLL

AND THENN AFTER WHEN I ATE LIKE A SLOB AT THE DINNER TABLE

DAD WOULD CHEW HIS FOOD, LIKE AN OLD GRUMPY MAN

I WAS A BRATTY LITTLE KID, DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS

HI FROM LADY, IN A LADIES VOICE

HI FROM SNOOPY IN A BIG MAN’S VOICE

HI FROM FLUFFY IN A POXLEY LADIES VOICE

YA SEE FLUFFY WAS THE CAT LIKE MISS PIGGY

I USED TO HAVE ARGUMENTS WITH THE CAT, SAYING MY BROTHER PUT ME IN CHARGE

AND HE SAID, SNOOPY, HE CALLS ME SNOOPY, YOU ARE BOSS OF YOURSELF

WHEN I AM AWAY, AND I WANTED TO BE THE ACTING MASTER, AND HE SAID

NO, YOUR BROTHER SAID SNOOPY, YOU ARE THE BOSS

AND DAD SANG THIS SONG WILD BILL HICCUP, OR SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT

AND MY BROTHER SMILED AT ME, CAUSE, THAT LADY’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE FLUFFY’S VOICE

YA SEE WE HAD CONVERSATIONS FOR THE CATS ALL DAY, BUT WHEN DAD WAS ANGRY

HE LET IT SHOW, I LIKED WHEN DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS, BUT I HATED GETTING ANGRY TO MAKE HIM ANGRY

YOU SEE DAD WAS A BIT OF A STICK IN THE MUD, TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY

I HATED THAT, BUT I WAS LIKE THE KIDS AT THAT STAGE

BUT I TOLD DAD, TO GO AND **** A LEMON, HE GOT MUM’S FRIENDS TO DANCE

TO HIS VERSION OF SINGING IN THE RAIN, YA KNOW, CHOO CHOO CHA CHOO CHOO CHA

BUT I TOLD THE WORLD THIS, BUT I WANT DADS HUMOUR IN THE WORLD

DAD’S ADVICE NEARLY GOT MY HEAD PUNCHED IN AS I COPIED THAT

LIKE IF SOMEONE SAID, WHAT AM I LOOKING AT TWIRP, DAD TOLD ME TO SAY,

DUNNO HASN’T GOT A NAMETAG ON IT, BUT CANBERRA COULDN’T EXCEPT THIS

MAYBE, IT IS OFFENSIVE, TO THEM, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T STAND FOR THE ANZAC DAY

I WAS GETTING MIXED MESSAGE OF DAD AND THE YOUNG DUDES, CROWDING MY HEAD

I DON’T MIND THAT, CAUSE NO KID WANTS TO BE TOTALLY LIKE THEIR FATHER

MY BROTHER WAS A LITTLE COOL KID, WHEN HE USED TO TEASE ME, AND THEN USED

TO GET INTO FIGHTS WITH ME BY THE POOL, I MAYBE HATED AT FIRST

BUT I AM NOT LIVING WITH PAST TEASING, I USED TO THROW STUMPS AT MY BROTHER

HE WAS SAYING, I WASN’T A COOL KID, I SAID, HE WASN’T A COOL KID

WE FOUGHT, WRESTLED, AND PLAYED BACKYARD CRICKET

WITH ALL OUR NEIGHBOURS, OH YEAH THAT’S COOL AS

DAD LOOKED LIKE DADDY LONG LEGS, AND MUM WAS MUMMY SHORT LEGS

AS THEY WERE HAVING A HIT IN BACKYARD

I HAD MY VERY OWN FOOTBALL LEAGUE, AND I PLAYED FOR BRIGHTON

AND DAD PLAYED FOR CCAE, WHICH IS NOW UNIVERSITY OF CANBERRA

AND DAD SCORED ABOUT 1000 GOALS SITTING IN THE FORWARD POCKET OF OUR FRONT YARD

I USED TO GET SICK OF DAD LOOKING AT ME, AT BEING A LITTLE SHY BOY

I HAD MY PLANS TO GET ON TV, THANKS TO MY BROTHER, FOR MAKING IT EASIER

I AM SUFFERING, BUT I FEEL POSITIVE ABOUT HITTING THE BIG SMOKE

BUT MY BROTHER AND DAD’S SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOT ME THINKING

WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE TOO IMAQGINATIVE, BUT IT MADE ME THE COOL PERSON I AM TODAY

I PERFORMED IN TWO PLAYS, URBAN DREAMINGT 2003, AND MOVE SPEAK ACT FOR MINDSCAPES

IN 2014, I HAVE TO SIT TIGHT, BUT THERE IS TRUTH IN THE FACT, THAT BIG THINGS HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WAIT

EVERY BLADE OF GRASS TO BE SOWN, MOVE SPEAK ACT HAD FUN WITH MY EVERY BLADE OF GRASS THEORY

IN A THEATRICAL WAY, MADE ME FEEL GOOD, DAD ALWAYS SAID, TO START SMALL

DAD GAVE ME A COMPUTER, SO I CAN BE FAMOUS ON YOUTUBE, WELL, HE WAS GIVING ME THE COMPUTER

CAUSE I NEEDED TO LEARN, BUT DAD USED TO TELL FUNNY JOKES TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS

THEN HE STARTED TELLING HIS LIFE STORY

I HOPE, IF DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL GET CATS OR DOGS, YOUR FUTURE TWINS IS MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS

TALK FOR THE CATS, YA SEE ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE ALIKE, IF YA LISTEN TO THEIR HUMOUR

IROBIN WILLIAMS DID IT IN HOLLYWOOD, DAD DID ITWITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, THINK ABOUT IT

ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE THE PERFECT TWINS, BUDDHA DID THIS, SO THEUY CAN CROSS PATHS

LOOK OUT DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL, YOUR  TWINS ARE FUNNY

**** ANY MAN OUT OF YA COTTON PICKING HEAD, I PREFER DAD MATURE

I LIKED HISV FUN SIDE, **** HIS BIG BIG MAN, I WAS SITTTING ON THE COUCH

CAUSE OF THE FUN DAD HAD

BUT I HEAR VOICES NOW, OF ME GOING TO JAMISON SLIDE

AND SPENDING 2 HOURS ON THE SL;IDE, ATTENDING POOL PARTIES

DAD PROBABLY THOUGHT THIS WAS COOL, BUT I WAS NOT A LITTLE PARENTS BOY

I WAS A FAMILY PERSON WHO LOVES LIFE

BRING DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TOGETHER JIMMY BARNESY’S GRANDCHILDREN

BOBBYE DAD, ENJOY NEXT LIFE WITH RW
Joe Bay Feb 2016
One dismal and grey day, I was walking down the abused and crackled sidewalk that city workers had neglected to fix despite the poor look of it.  I glanced down every few steps to avoid the cracks in the cement that could make me stumble. It started to lightly rain, so I decided to find a place to wait out the weather. To my luck a run down café called The Bismark was right across the road. I sped across the street and approached the entrance to the café. I turned the old door **** and walked into a quaint and aesthetically pleasing, mostly white little room with several large machines that I can only assume would be used for make expensive, overly complicated coffee that was delicious.
A cute girl was standing behind the counter dressed in modern and intentionally tattered clothing that was obviously a planned statement to her quirky individuality. I ordered a small dark roast coffee and sat down by the window. While peering out the window into the seemingly boring and newspaper print world that lay before me, I saw someone walk in. It was a younger man, probably six months passed twenty and plain as the weather he just came in from. He wasn’t just any sort of plain; he was the kind of plain that stood out because he was so extraordinarily ordinary. He was wearing a red apron with a nametag that, only after a glance I could make out to read A&P.;
He walked up to the counter and ordered what I thought to be a black coffee. He paid and then waded past the field of wooden chairs over to table across from me. He looked to me like he was a bit detached. My curiosity quickly turned to a half embarrassed half confused mindset when he looked back and made eye contact with me. Thank God the cute barista yelled out, “Sammy!” with an annoyed yelp that could only be uttered by someone who was absolutely fed up with his or her current state of employment. The young man who had caught my attention scooted out of his chair and hastily walked to the counter to grab his coffee from the cute barista. He nodded in appreciation with a pleasant half smile and pulled out his wallet to grab the monetary appreciation that makes the menial minimum wage jobs worth it.
So as not to spill his coffee, he walked with a careful stride over to the table that he had been sitting at before and sat back down onto the chair. He then took the lid off of the cup of coffee and blew on it with short rhythmic puffs. I watched with a regretful curiosity at the strange character that had seemingly come in from daytime dreary.
I decided that I should interact with the oddity that lay before me and started thinking of techniques to go about it. Your humble writer thought to himself as to whether or not this decision would prevent him from carrying on the day with the glee and whimsy that was sure to come out of the bright and beautiful world that lay beyond the door to the café. Cooler heads prevailed and I decided to ask him how he was doing.
He glanced over at me, as if he was surprised that a human being was actually talking to him.
He replied, “I’ve had better, but a break from work is a break from life.”
I smirked and nodded in agreement. Then I asked him what he did and where he worked.
Unenthusiastically, he replied saying that he was a cashier at the A&P; grocery store.
I asked him why he seemed so unhappy with the job and he told me that he was tired of having to interact with the same boring people on a day-to-day basis.
“Why don’t you just quit the job if it makes you so unhappy”, I asked.
He replied with look of irritation and explained to me that no matter how hard he tried to break away, the job wouldn’t let him out.
I asked why that was and he said there is just something that was holding him to the cash register.
He said, “that the perfectly stacked shelves in his store make him numb enough not to care.”
What kind of annoying customers have you seen while working there? I replied, trying to change the depressing mood that the conversation was exhibiting.
He told me that once in awhile a bunch of annoying kids while come in and start knocking stuff over and trying causing a fuss.
I said he should just let the parents know that their kids are up to no good. He told me that half the time the parents don’t give enough of a **** to stop them and are just thankful that they aren’t mothering them for a change.
I told Sammy that I wasn’t looking for the basic answer that everyone in the service industry gives when they have complaints about their jobs. So I asked him, “What were some of the most out of the box customers that you have had come in to the A&P;?”
He told me that through out the years he has seen people come into the store with no shirt, no shoes, and no pants came in. He also explained how once,  a rabid poodle came in and started trying to bite his co-worker, Stokesie.  He even told me about how once, a former employee at the store tried to steal all the meat from the butcher by hiding the meat under his shirt. He said hat he had to chase him out the store with a baseball bat and that with every step more and more meat would fall out of his shirt. He then began to tell me how sad the store made him feel. He told me about all the fake people that he had to sit silently and watch while they went about their mediocre lives with an ignorant bliss. He told me how the people that came into the store had a certain stupidity that showed how suburbia could ruin a person without them even realizing that they had been ruined.
Once in awhile he would take some time to wonder just how messed up the folks that strolled through the aisles of the A&P; really were. He would always come to the same conclusion. That was that society had diminished the aspects of a meaningful life into an obscured picture of true happiness. The joy and fulfillment of a good life was now just strolling up and down the aisles of the neighborhood grocery store, taking food off the shelves like zombies, and paying for it with the money that they made working the same sort of depressing job. It was a twisted cycle that Sammy knew he had to break free from.
Sierra Collins Jan 2013
A few months ago, I saw you for the first time, and
I’ll probably never see you again.
I was at the mall with the friends who aren’t friends at all;
I think that day was the last time I saw them, too.
I walked into the food court and up to the stand where you were working,
And the first thing I noticed was that you were very pretty
Golden hair, bright amber eyes, and a smile
More sincere than what I was used to.
You were older than me, but couldn’t have been
More than eighteen,
And when I ordered a drink, you spoke in a kind voice
That sounded like music.
But this is what really made me remember you:
You reached your pale arm out to take the money from my hands,
And stretching from the base of your palm up to your elbow
Were rows upon rows of scars—some faded with time, but others
Red and scabbed, having been placed on your skin recently
By the burning kiss of a blade.
And so many things went through my mind at that moment, and
I still think them to this day.
I wonder if you noticed my gaze, trailing up your arm and into your
Eyes that shone like mirrors.
I wonder if you wanted to say something to me, but didn’t.
I wonder if you had finished that chapter in your life,
Or if you were already anticipating the next time you could open another vein,
And let the blood fall with your tears.
I wonder if you even remember me, or anything about that day.
Am I crazy for holding onto this memory?
I wish I had read your nametag, so I could’ve known the
Name behind the pretty face and untold story.
I wish I knew the reason behind your sadness;
The truth behind those rust-coloured eyes.
But mostly, I wish that I hadn’t been wearing a jacket, or that
I would’ve rolled up my sleeves, so that you could have seen
The rows upon rows of scars that lined my own arms—permanent reminders
Of the days that life wasn’t worth living—
Because they reflected yours almost perfectly.
And I wish you could have seen them, so that you could have known
That you’re not alone.
And I hope you’re still alive,
That this poem didn’t reach you too late,
Because I want you to know
I care.
This actually happened to me, and has been bothering me for a while...
kaycog Jun 2017
When people ask me
why I don't pursue writing as a career
the answer is the literary equivalent
of dark chocolate--I love it
but it's bitter-sweet
and it melts when you hold on
too tight, and for too long
the answer is complicated
in fact, its a relationship
deeply personal
a high stakes investment
...that's not about the money
the point of the matter is
if my financial stability
depended sole on my ability
to produce written gold
I'd say that's far too much pressure
and the only pressure that should be found in writing
should be the tip of my pen once it's ink hits paper
it is an especially warm day -
you drink orange juice
straight from the carton -

like many - a time for legs
on display - off and on
buses - but inside

a nametag states Harmony -
provides me with
a throat-cooling solution

before you sit in silence
with music I cannot hear -
drinking juice from the carton
Written: June 2022.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP profile.
all in the glory
a skin piece
melting down the sewer eyes
****!
Columbus ave.
sickly "light"? grizzly stairs up the bridge
******* on the low stoopway
forget that corner and a glinting nametag, a dancer
stay here and run! don't do it again  YES
who bends over in the streets
BAM!
"I wasn't watching I'm sorry"
"Oh, no need honey"
undress me
organic hair pitted down matted in a Tesla
Nikol, Nico
the watchburn and lion's breath purple dangling "in the car again?"
"****
not again"
trunkbed aroma hitting
Des Moines!
or was it blue again?
who's sound is closer to the truth and who's taking the first shower?
get naked
I reach down for the stone
I feel the soft at its edges
cigarette soaring!
Waterloo
which of you suckers ruled England last year?
the weekend slowly sleeps
in the bay's gentle red cradle
Mother
fitting quietly
an alleyway above our heads
who?
Edward
a hand raises from the striped automobile
"Hey! **** out of the road!"
Chopin, the glissando with no lost word
the shattered beer bottle of 20 years, antiquity
glow into the sink
washing onward Barton and Lombard
Barton and Lombard
both streets unacting like the other
shards of melting black pavement lying so tight and close, the lovers of suburbia
...
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
you sometimes stumble into these situations
without even wondering
how else to later describe them:
verbatim...
                      however the mundane the details
are...
    i should a series or something,
Gibsberg-esque, not not quiet
     'what thoughts i have of you,
walt whitman...
                                     i went into
the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!'

     but still... scenes from supermarkets...
more grit, realism...
                         just like tonight:
went for two beers and a whiskey with
thoughts, more alligned to:
                why do i dream so little?
why the weight of thanatos' clepsydra
on my chest upon waking
from a dreamless night -
            as if: starless in...
                  places like a district in seoul...
well...
         i found myself standing in line to
the cashier...
    some guy behind me was asking
by name / nametag (a high rarity event
of the general impersonal take on
shopping - or in matter of fact...
    the degredation of the sellers...
                   unlike elsewhere,
   circa 1980s Poland - where the
saleswoman amassed a status of ms.
   and the buyer was never a mr.
     or a mrs. but a strippen-barren you -
now exchange the words,
    pani                       /                ty
                               lost in translation)...
(Karen)
                about lightlubs...
                 i.e. yeah, they were different...
but in front of me... a real curiosity...
placed the beer and the whiskey
next to the cashier...
    stood casually for...
                   "    no apparent reason"...
a decent 2 minutes...
         the guy started fiddling
with two debit cards,
       and a handful of change...
i mean... 2pence coins 1 pence coins...
twenties, maybe a quid,
tens etc.
                first he tried one card
on the contactless... failed...
                  then he gave the handful
of change to the cashier
who started counting it...
    she counted: almost three quid...
i.e. not enough
      for what he was about to steal...
all the gift of the gob...
    i mean: those little conversations...
you know the yappy yappy puppy
sort... talk like honey...
  or an aqua-man...
                            just kept pouring
out... excuse here there, excuse there...
apologised to me for waiting...
sure sure...
             he was given his spare change
back...
        so he takes out another card:
again, fails on the contactless...
  so he's asked to insert it and use
the pin...
                  oops, says the cashier... failed...
oh... a quick glance at the clock...
an open carrier bag... next to the thing he's
going to steal...
              mouth of honey doubles down...
what time will you be closing?
      15 minutes...
          oh that's alright then,
   i'll just come back with the missing change...
walks away...
   and i'm like...
did you see that?
          only my eyes are talking.
cashier no. 1: see what?
security guard:                   (too late)
cashier no. 2 leaving
work, fiddling with her
shopping on the self-checkouts:
  (she'll come into this story when
i'm walking out with my whiskey
and beer,
   i'm eyeing her queerly
she's eyeing me huh? passing me
she starts muttering to herself)
                        he knows he knows
(gritted teeth talk)...
   as i look at the security guard,
a colt... quick on the mark!
                   linford ******* christie quick...
i did love the little shuffle and mini
dance as he tried to avert himself
from me...
point being...
    it's a petty crime...
                    i did one better...
less theatre, stole a c.d. from a...
w.h. smith...
                   cds books...
          but **** me... all that theatre
using spare change, cards,
mouth of honey, confusion... for the item
that i saw being stolen?
  so i thought:
     maybe this guy is moving up in life...
maybe there's this sort of jinx
for thieves,
that you have to steal this item
before you do a bank heist...
                                or the jewelers...
just something...
    i mean... i've heard of ******
junkies stealing meat from supermarkets
to sell et&
                          i mean...
me stealing a c.d. from a store...
   with cameras everywhere...
  but this guy... it had to be... he was
probably told by some guys:
   you can't do a proper job
on a bank if you don't steal this piece
of item first...
      because who, the ****,
would steal... a pair of woman's tights?!
unless he has a gig
   as a drag queen...
             a fetish...
                  or... eh?
                        i mean... that's like...
why the **** would i even
watch the movies?
           - and... i can't even make this up...
unless... a very...
    what sort of man would be
with a woman who tells him:
even if you don't have the money...
you better steal for me... a pair of tights...
yeah...
berkeley 1955...
          ginsberg thinking about
whitman walking into the neon fruit
supermarket...
essex 2019...
   me thinking about how i don't
dream enough walking into
a supermarket and seeing
     linford ******* christie security
guard do a little dance
   after he realised
  that the mean before me
just stole a pair of woman's tights;
hardly a ******* comparison.
JB Claywell Feb 2020
First comes Lunch Break.

“I see you writing over there and on Sundays I can hear you talking to your friend,”
she says.

She continues,
while her eyes sparkle with a mischief that is neither unfamiliar or unwanted.
“You guys are funny.”

I laugh
&
remember how flushed her face was
on the Sunday that she sat with us.

Lunch Break is an older gal;
I should stop to re-read her nametag
but I haven’t.

Right now,
her wry smile;
shaking laughter remind me of my mother’s
if only
in the space
of a single
breath.

Popcorn stops by next.

She too flutters matron’s
angel-wings as she looks in
on me.

“I’ve just popped a fresh batch,”
she informs.

I nod my thanks; scribbling onward
to a perceived victory
of poetic or otherwise literary
proportions.

Feeling particularly pitched at,
I pick up a box of Popcorn’s
salty siren-song scented
offering.
I call her Princess as I cash out.

“The new girl needs a name.”
says Princess Popcorn.
“It’s her first day. You have to name her too.”

I don’t know why they like this,
but they do.

Nowadays, it’s considered toxic & sexist.
(I call it old-school and wink in a knowing way.)

The New Girl…

Her tag tells me that her name is:
Jordan.

It’s she that I give my popcorn money to.

I smile.
Jordan returns the gesture.
“How’s day number one going,”
I ask.
“Okay”
says Jordan.

I pay for the box of popcorn
with a stack of nickels stolen
Off of Alexander’s bookshelf.
“$1.08”,
chimes Jordan.

She hands me 2 pennies back.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better than just okay.”
I say.
“Make the rest of today the best it can be.”

The New Girl gives a big, toothy grin and says…

“You too.”
I walk back to the cafe side
to munch popcorn
I don’t really want while I
line the nest of
this poem
with the feathers
of
gas station angels.

*

-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications
ohNoe Jul 2020
I don't know your dead people,
never tiptoed through their tombstones
nor danced within where they dwell,...
be that heaven or hell
But my dead people are all too active,
wearing shells
ringing bells
singing broken fairy tales
within my mind once more
or maybe twice
or at least thrice for sure
And As Always,
I'm Amazed i'm not one of them
Coincidence within Clint plays,
and Fate cares only for its own whims
Their voices haven't changed,
though I've been many times rearranged
There are still lessons to learn
so I still lean in,
eager to listen...
Innocence screams forevermore once you've ***** it
unless you forgive your ignorance arrogance
and embrace the growth the losses let you posit
**** pieces of yourself
then decide to Hate your new Self
and you'll **** yourself
You can be perfect
or as approximate as possible
and cancer kills you at 35
But if the passion for the path was pretty much perfect
and the intensity of the effort was always palpable
(and appeared as effortless as it was selfless)
then all those you inspired are that much more alive
Yeah, that's the poem for now...couple Main characters weren't heard from, except to say "you have to be up in 5 hrs for a ride and then chores and then work....so go to sleep, or I will put you to sleep. Check out the nametag grandma, you're in my world now"...wait, how did I slip into Happy Gilmore...
Cydney Something Feb 2020
She smiles sweetly
Her nametag reads
SOLITUDE
And she follows you
Through crowds
Whispering in your ear
Quietly
Yet drowning it all out
"I am with you"
She smells so sweet
As she gently places fingers
Around your shoulders
And you stiffen
"Relaaaax"
You relaaaax
Where did everyone go?
Her fingers tighten, tighten,
Massaging away the crowd
"I am with you"
She turns your shoulders
You walk towards a blackness
Blindingly bright blackness
That burns the eyes
"Here"
She is hissing
Fingers around your shoulders
Digging in and biting down
Fingernails slowly sinking
In and down and in and down
"I am everything"
The blackness deepens
The blackness thickens
The blackness burns
"You are nothing"
Something presses to your back
A ****
A hard, sharp, thin ****
Pressing to your spine
Harder, harder
Growing against and into you
Slowly piercing, ever growing
You cry out
"I will ******* to DEATH!"
Her **** gores your spine
Searing and scrambling
Your guts and lungs
"YOU ARE NOTHING"
The bloodied, pointed head
Emerges from a burning hole
Up through your chest
Pointed to the blacked-out sun
This is the end
The end
THE END

— The End —