Treason

It is not commanded.
Not peaceful nor calm.
Not the warriors clad in white
trained to protect their queen.
She doesn’t wear a robe,
but an apron of pale blue
and listens to her advisor speak
not of devotion, loyalty, or love.
Instead he has a warning.
Their purpose forgotten,
her soldiers attack and
her bed floods with blood.

Villa Philmonte

Near Cimarron, a scout camp sprawled—
a smorgasbord for my virgin lips.
The dusty, cracked shrub encased perfect
bluegrass and a terracotta villa
with trophy heads of gazelles, buffalo hides,
and an ivory keyed piano.
But outside someone not so exotic attracted me.
My finger curved, beckoning the faux-cowboy
to follow me down a dirt trail to a dead
tree grove. Famished hands wandered up my back
and I pulled them away. Mouth clamping,
teeth carved my lips. The cowboy
only held back because of a black
tag and white garments.
I left for my tent, trying to hide
my swollen face.

Ode to Vitamin B12

plastic-syringe

My terminal ileum—a stricture
half-digested eggs,
milk, and meat, neglecting
nutrients I need. Without
the strawberry red
liquid vitamin B12, my brain
disconnects
and shuts down.
With a 1.5-inch needle, I extract
the 1mL vial and plug
into its battery
as I stab my naked
thigh, installing the vitamin,
rebooting neural networks.
This amped little 1mL vial,
taken once a month,
keeps me at full capacity
so I won’t be defunct.

Life Lines (or Queue)

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There’s not a place her footsteps won’t tread
across—the lost valleys, through trails
of experience, the fools’
purple mountains crumbling
under, up to peaks of triumph,
and into purging tombs—to heed
the echoing cries of loss
and longing playing repeatedly
inside us all.

Crushed

legs-in-high-heels-clipart

(PATRICK sits on a couch in a room with a door, and an open window in the back. One of the cushions is removed off the couch and he’s reaching his arm into the cracks, looking for something. PATRICK is waiting for LAURA to come home.)

(LAURA, a young veterinarian, walks on stage through the door, looking haggard. As she enters, PATRICK stops his search.)

Patrick: You haven’t happened to see my cellphone, have you?

(Ignoring him, LAURA lets her purse drop to the floor as she kicks off her shoes.)

LAURA: Not even going to ask me how my day was?

PATRICK: I take it, it was rough.

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Aerial Peeping

black-and-white-war-plane

(In the middle of a family picnic being held to celebrate FRANK’s 85th birthday. FRANK holds a photograph of a group of air force pilots posing together.)

FRANK: See this picture here? I know, you can hardly believe that’s me. I had a full head of hair back then and that was the only reason why Mary Lou decided to have me, you know. My hair was straight n’ blond—nothing that great in my opinion – but it sure beats my current gray n’ sparse. I’m sure you agree.

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Watch Out

warning_street_sign_T_intersection_ahead

“Where do I go?” he asked his wife, who was too busy reading a book to give him directions. The husband reached the three-way intersection at the end of the long road which split off into two before them. He waited for his wife to answer left or right because he couldn’t very well continue forward into the barbed-wire and brush.

“You can get to the restaurant if you turn left,” she said, placing the book down.

From the left a motorcyclist was approaching, but—being hyper-focused on the unfamiliar road—the husband didn’t notice. Creeping the car forward, his wife had a miniature spasm attack of some sort.

“Watch out!—watch out!—watch out!” she shrieked, startling him into a stop. The motorcyclist slowed down and took a right, neglecting to signal his intention to make the turn.

“Oh be quiet, back seat driver!” the husband shouted and lurched the car forward to get out of the intersection. Huffing, his wife lifted her book to continue reading. Continue reading