Authority
He’s smirking throughout all of his sentences;
unlatching car doors, strewing glove box papers.
Wet naps get thrown on sizzling pavement
as his badge brandishes and boasts its glint to the sun
and as she holds her child’s thick, cushioned hand
in the blazing heat that burns
the back of the moms palm when
she meagerly attempts
to protect her baby’s fingers
from the beating sun.
Under Influence
I hate summer. Summer hates me. My legs stick together, sandwich sharp fragments of sand. Mosquitos guzzle the blood of my calves like crack. Sparks and bites of flame bounce into the air, falling at my toes. Red sparks to black ash to just another grain. The beach swallows. Fur brushes my face. Mocks the sharp pain of my legs. The moth dances past me. Noticing. And falling. For the sultry bonfire. Pure devotion. Mind control. Brain washing. Erratic. It drunkenly flies. Into open orange arms.
458
The gray line resting on the right
only gets shorter
and smaller
on the screen.
Her eyes swallow every
like, follow, comment.
All just
illuminated pixels.
And those pixels cage her
push her to the edge
shove her towards a camera
knock air out of her lungs.
But her brain is not pixels.
Her brain is 458.
458 followers.
Her phone is tired.
Her thumb trembles in the air.
As she drags down the screen,
as she sees a loading spiral again.
458 followers.
Legacy
John’s dad isn’t like the other dads.
He’s stronger (he once threw his chair against a wall)
He’s smarter (he never pays at convenience stores)
He’s just cooler (he wears sunglasses at night)
John’s dad tells John:
Don’t be like me.
But John already knows
that when his dad
carefully tapes posters over broken drywall
and hands him stolen Kit Kats and sour gummies
and lifts his sunglasses up to look him in the eyes
he already knows he’ll be
exactly like him.
Powerful Music
Her tears always wiped out any dust on the piano, and
her red wrists dragged across white keys and black.
Left hand on G, right hand on A, bouncing, they
force majors, minors, to flood living room air
on a spring afternoon. Sun and sky tease
and mock her for avoiding their blessing.
Ingraining sheet music in her mind until
a sound jars in ears and she jumps. Her hands moved too far down the piano. She played five notes too low. The cacophony of sound is laughing at her. It’s startling. It’s disgusting. It’s real.
Eyes close
denial searches for mercy.
The thick perfume
behind her deepens.
Fingers creep behind.
A satisfied voice.
Hands out.
A quick turn.
of wrinkly skin.
Swats a thin stick
against soft red.
And the sound
floods room
as the sun and sky
watch.