First published in Terrain.org
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Friday, May 22, 2015
Shape Poem: Henry Miller's Marshmallow Stick
First published in Eclectic Literary Forum
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Mascot, Chapter 16: More Than Air
Buy the book at Amazon Kindle.
More Than Air
In the dream, Edward is tied down to a bed as a red-haired
ogre slaps his face, pokes at his limbs, pulls his hair. But the pain seems a
little too real. He wakes in time to grab Zelda’s hands. She raises a leg and
kicks him, dangerously close to the family jewels.
“Three years, asshole! Three fucking years. Do you know how
much I cried for you? What kind of person just… disappears like that?”
Zelda’s tone is climbing and climbing, approaching soprano.
Edward lets go and rolls toward the window, hoping to keep the bed between
himself and his attacker. She bends over, crying into her hands, but this just
seems to restore her strength. She hops across the bed on her knees, but Edward
slides to his left and dashes to the bathroom, closing the door just as Zelda
reaches it. She spends the next two minutes smacking it with the palm of her
hand, then slides to the floor, breathing raggedly. She speaks in a rocky tone.
“I am going to work. Just get the fuck out of my apartment,
and don’t ever come back. Motherfucker.”
He hears the jangle of keys, the slam of a door. A minute
later, he slides into the room and goes about collecting his clothes. When he
gets to his suit jacket, he finds that it’s been torn into two discrete pieces.
Edward walks across the street, bleary-eyed, in shock. He
leans against his rental car and calls Jackson.
“Hello?”
“Are you in the Bahamas yet?”
“Edward?”
“Yes. Your maid of honor just hurled me out of her apartment.”
The line fills with Jackson’s husky laughter. “Can’t say as
I blame her. Hey, where are you right now?”
“Across the street. Just outside the Pruneyard.”
“Why don’t you meet me at the coffeehouse in half an hour?”
“Um… Did I mention that Zelda wants to kill me?”
“It’s okay. She doesn’t work there anymore.”
“Okay.”
Edward’s in the old spot, feeling like he never left. The
taste of a Sinatra Sumatra is a balm to his soul. The counter is manned by a
pair of bubbly blondes who cannot be far removed from high school. He has long
suspected the owner of conducting his hirings in the manner of a beauty
pageant, but of course in this he is complicit, having spent so many mornings
mooning over Zelda. Fortunately, it’s not long till Jackson arrives, resplendent
in a yellow button-down, looking like not much has happened in his life. Edward
stands to greet him with a hug. Jackson holds on a little longer than usual.
“Brother!”
“Husband of Zarita. How long before you leave?”
“Late tonight. Zelda is very graciously filling in for me at
work.”
“I’m… What?”
Jackson grins. “I’ll be right back.”
“Seriously?”
He trots to the counter, where one of the bubbly blondes
greets him like an old friend. “So? How was it?”
He pats her cheek. “More perfect than anything you could
imagine.”
The blonde holds both hands to her heart and releases a
two-note sigh. “Oh! I’m gonna cry.” She smiles and recovers. “Sinatra?”
“Yep.”
“Be right up.”
He pays her, adds a two-dollar tip and returns to Edward.
“You’re drinking Sinatras?”
Jackson pulls up a chair. “It started as a tribute to a
missing friend. Then I got hooked.”
Edward laughs. “I tell people they’re just like Frank:
smooth and rich, but with a certain edge.”
He takes a sip. “So. Zelda? Filling in?”
“Yes. Well. Young Zelda spent the winter dehydrating herself
over her vanished Edward…”
“God.”
“But eventually the sun came out, baseball returned, and I
couldn’t do the job by myself. And so, in the tradition of giving the job of
Assistant Gigante to downtrodden individuals, I signed her up.”
“How is she?”
“Fantastic! She’s not as good as you at the gags – nobody is
– but she certainly keeps up the dance part. The only drawback is, it’s hard to
conceal the fact that there are two Gigantes.”
“Separate costumes?”
“Yep. Junk in the trunk. And since I don’t have the time to
be subtle… I am so happy that you
made it to the wedding, pal, but I’m still a little pissed at you. That girl
really loved you. Loves you.”
Edward folds his hands behind his head. Jackson hasn’t seen
him make this kind of relaxed gesture since their five-year high school
reunion.
“The girl who loves me tried to beat the shit out of me.
Little mark above my eye? Scratch on the neck? And, she ripped my jacket into two pieces.”
Jackson loses himself in a fit of laughter, then excuses
himself to fetch his coffee from the counter.
“Thanks, Danielle. I’m sorry, Edward, but you deserved every
bit of it. There is this point where love mixes with anger and turns into
passion. The same passion that drove you into the swimming pool. And don’t
think the entire wedding did not see that.”
Edward raises his cup. “Anything I can do to make your
special day more memorable.”
“That you did. But also, thanks for saving my Dad. It was
nice to have an audible toast at my wedding. Bean Hollow. God! I hadn’t thought
about that for years.”
They take a moment to indulge in their coffees and gaze into
the courtyard. The morning overcast has returned to the ocean and left a
gorgeous spring day. A bearded hipster sits on the patio, teaching himself to
play the ukulele.
“Do you want her?”
Edward taps a finger on the table. “More than… air.”
“Poetry! Okay. Go to the game. She can’t very well kick you
in the nuts while she’s in costume.”
Edward smiles. “Perhaps I will purchase an athletic
protector.”
Photo by MJV
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Shape Poem: The Bachelor Falls in Love with Eyes Wide Open
First Published in Offcourse
Friday, May 8, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
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