Strawberry Flavored Soda
and hand it to you
and watch it explode
staining you like blood.
i want to watch your mouth
open in surprise and horror
as you taste
my fruity revenge
i want to hear the hiss
as the sugary carbonation
stings your tongue.
and this time
you won't be able to swat them all away
like you did to me.
i love the taste
of strawberry soda
because it makes me think
of sweet vengeance
that one day,
i'll have the strength to enact
tastes like the rosy glow of
the pre-sunset sky
a haiku by coldfront
10) Speculations As To What May Have Happened To No.9 (Your Guess Is As Good As Mine)
"Writes itself, doesn't it?"
Joe slurped his strawberry soda menacingly from the shadows, casually holding a baseball bat in his other hand, tapping it on the linoleum flooring impatiently.
Love Potion no.9 by The Clovers was playing from the crackly stereo in the corner:
"I'm sorry Mr Pesci, please. I just need a little more time." The writer stammered desperately, a bead of nervous sweat running down his brow as his fingers clunked diligently away at the old fashioned type-writer.
"You're ghost writer number nine. You ever think about that? Care to guess what happened to numbers one through eight?" The slurping got even more ominous as he let his rhetorical question seep into the writer's tremulous pits. "You know what a deadline is, number nine?"
"Yes, I...I'm sorry, I woke up last night and wrote down my best idea on a post it note but it must've fallen off into the wastebasket and I couldn't remember it this morning."
"Oh, a Post it note huh? Don't give me that crap.. At least come up with a creative excuse. A paperclip machine armageddon, armadillos threatening you with a kazoo. This shit ain't that hard Nine. Time's running out."
"I thought the Trident Media challenge was ongoing?"
"Ongoing he says! on fuck'n going... If Lego bricks don't like knock-offs they shouldn't be so damn expensive. You get my meaning number Nine?"
"Umm... I can't say I rea - "
"Well let me reiterate. You see this bat?"
"y..yes.." the poor writer gulped cartoonishly.
"Wrong answer. This isn't a bat. It's a surgeon. You know what his specialty is? A medical procedure to extract smoothness. Things a little clearer for ya, huh Niney? Well allow me to demonstrate!"
Joe swung the surgeon at the stereo, smashing it to spark-showering smithereens.
The Clovers' comforting tune was decimated and the small office was cast into sudden silence, save for the reluctant click-clacking of the typewriter and a few pleadingly forlorn sobs from number Nine.
within himself (attempt at life no. 9)
behind boards in a burrow
sets down his cloudy jewel jersey
needs a moment
with his memories and mementos
nibbled nails to the cuticles
fortified a hidey-hole in the forest for a necessary funeral
an underground regeneration station
he’ll sleep until spring
until all this melts away
heated clean by sunbeams
and the ground glistens
more comebacks than a cup competition
stops buzzing bugs in their tracks like an aerosol-induced heart attack
the palpitation prince
will regenerate and soar like a swift when the radiation shield switch clicks
an architect of cyclical crescendos
and sealing windows
now let’s celebrate with some party poppers and drinks
here’s to the ninth life of the sphynx