Karen
We locked eyes in a Subway
although I wish we hadn’t
She was gorgeous
She ordered the Meatball Marinara special,
proving her disdain and lack of experience in deli meat consumption
Meatball Marinara!
In a fine establishment like this!
The outrage
It would have been unforgivable if she had not been so astoundingly attractive
Her clothes, a top the color of blood, a warning of the chaos she causes
her shoes, stilettos completely unpractical for the winter in anywhere but LA
Her nose, the perfect slope of y= x squared
Her eyes, the same eclectic blue of laundry detergent, although she clearly wouldn’t know
The same glint of frustration and determination of a weed whacker in an impossibly large front yard
She snaps her fingers at an employee
soft hands, un calloused neither by manual labor nor the works of life
She rolls her eyes, snarling
Like when you step in a puddle wearing socks
The employee does not catch on, or does not care, about her annoyance
He simply cuts her chosen bread and carries on
He puts peppers on her sandwich
Oh the mistake he hath made
He shalt unleash the fury that resides within
She screams, a bellow of pain, of personal attack
Why, she acts as if he has personally slew her firstborn child
She demands to be brought the manager as tribute immediately
When he reveals that he hath been the manager all along it enrages her
Her hair, the color of american cheese slices, appears in an updo resting over her head
Hastily tied up, to prepare for her battle with authority
How dare her waive her autonomy, assuming she would like peppers? She demands
She will not receive any answer
She angrily pops her bubblegum, snapping it in the face of the manager
He rolls his eyes and sighs
It is the pristine image of an old cowboy duel
The Connecticut Subway may as well be Texas in 1870s
It iss practically playing the old Western music
It is human nature to be glued to viewing this event
Unable to look or look away
Like watching a car accident on the side of the highway,
knowing someone is going to perish
The manager should not have been so foolish as to engage
When going against a Karen, the battle has already been lost
Cheap
I am Money.
I am Time and Currency.
Invest in me, I say to myself
cutting my imaginary bread
with butter
It's my jam, after all
this______,
the thick spread
waiting
for the next bite.
Join me across the table.
We'll hold hands a minute
Exchange blood, Jesus
Christ and break, even
between the work sheets
counting out the tithes
beneath the ticking...
----------you know
the prayerful wishes
that we keep.
The ten. Or twelve.
For one day.
When we're free.
Deluge
It only comes out when it rains.
I take a barrel. Collect. Each drop is my salvation. In final preparation.
My life's calling.
I'll do the cooking. My dirty laundry. All the neighbors will watch me.
"Due diligence?"
Due diligence.
Little birds will sit, barbs on the wire.
My sister will wash her hair.
Granny will water the plants.
They'll lock the stable. Turn down the veils.
"One, two, three. Stop."
One, two, three. Stop.
I fully expect rain, at my funeral march.
11.28.2023
It only comes out when it rains challenge @dctezcan
Boots - A Child’s Tool of Torture
When the rain stops, I put on my boots.
It was worm-stomping time.
I put on my coat, all ready to go,
to go commit my crime.
Glorified spaghetti noodles rise up -
My rubber boots stomped DOWN!
As I committed my massacre,
I mused if worms could drown.
I tested this in a puddle,
squishing their soft pink heads.
They didn't really react,
so I stomped more instead.
Worms are worms.
Make them squirm.
That's all I have to say.
The Desert Moon
It's beneath the sand
where all is buried
in desert low
like a pearl
the pool
Beneath the sand
down where it's
neither
hot nor cooled
Beneath the sand
of Time
where all lies
in waiting
Beneath the sand
drawn for its own
full occasion
by the tide
Beneath the sand
the pull of water
dips anew...
Beneath the sand
the desert Moon.
11.26.2023
The Desert Moon challenge @Huckleberry_Hoo
Lists
3 reasons your cat may be a CIA agent:
Top Investigator Award: (1) Always knowing what I’m eating despite my attempts to hide it from him (100% powers of perception with boiled peanuts or chips and dip); (2) Always knowing I’m about to walk in the door and taking a dump right beforehand to ensure the room is adequately “fragranced” and warmly welcoming; (3) Always knowing my alarm will go off in 5 minutes and alerting me of the same by either bouncing across the bed at 100 miles per hour or purring loudly a scant 1 mm from my face.
3 reasons the aliens left without bothering:
Aliens Deserted Us Because Of: (1) Our low minimum wage; (2) Our uninspired alien films; (3) Our slow means of travel.
3 reasons why the FDA actually approves of alcohol/ nicotine:
Alcohol & Nicotine Abuse Encouraged Because: (1) They would like us all to die before a certain age so that our benefits go unclaimed/unpaid; (2) We’re much more tolerable and likeable when indulging (judging purely from personal experience); (3) The alcohol and nicotine business is booming – a bourbon/tequila/vodka for every actor and fancy or hip cigarettes to suit every taste and style.
3 excuses to call out of work so you can go fishing:
Reasons to play hooky and go fishing: (1) You fell asleep and forgot to paint your toenails; (2) You have accrued a total of 8.25 hours in sick leave (and it’s literally burning a hole in your pocket, much like money); (3) Your friend reports the fish aren’t biting (a bad day fishing is always better than a good day at work).
Wait… what is that hiding in the corner?
Three things hiding in the corner: (1) Good Lord, it’s my bra – from 1976; (2) Time to sweep - it’s a collection of toenail clippings; (3) Oh my God - it’s my ex.
Murdering three
I was nine years old when I murdered my friend, Nessie.
She had died fast, her body thrashing on the ground. I stared, awestruck. The only sadness I’d felt was when it was over. Destructive me.
I was ten years old when I killed Finley. He died the same way as Nessie, his body thrashing on the ground, squirming. It was a really interesting sight. And I've kept it a secret, because I'm pretty sure no one would have liked to hear that I had killed two of my good friends.
Finley and Nessie are buried together. I didn’t have that much space for them, because they were... well, they were really big. I used a shovel to sink them into the ground, and then I prayed for them.
I did the same thing when I was eleven to my other friend, Feefee. She died the same way, and I began getting bored of killing. I went out to bury Feefee that day, but then, my dad my stepped outside.
“Athena, will you take out the gar-” he’d started to say, then stopped when he saw me. His eyes grew big.
I was dragging Feefee out onto the lawn. My dad’s eyes grew even larger, if that was even possible, and his eyebrows bended over so much that they crossed. He looked ready to choke, and I couldn’t blame him. Dragging something takes a lot of effort.
“What is that your carrying?” He asked, his eyes now bulging out of his head. He closed his eyes. “Oh God, tell me I’m dreaming, tell me this isn’t real.”
He told me I had a lot to explain. And I did, later. I told him about Nessie, Finley, and Feefee.
Nessie, Finley, and Feefee.
In my life, I’ve murdered three.
Fish.
___________________________________________________________________