Pandemic Proverb
Sometimes the only
way out is through.
On the other side
waits a better you.
Hungry for More
Cannibal. Hungry for more. Inquire within…
Soft Box
Red
Wet
Blind
Writhing
Worm
Soft Box
Locked
Inside
Him
Rare
Parts
Orange Julius
Vermilion froth,
tart and sweet.
The perfect treat
when you need a break
from the endless storefronts
in the suburban mecca vying
for your attention and
hard-earned dollars.
Ceaseless foot traffic, a
steady stream. Perfect for
an orange dream. Things aren’t
always what they seem…
Married couples bicker,
cigarette butts flicker,
burning bright
like miniature suns.
Neon lights delight
a mother and her daughter
clutching a red balloon.
Childlike whimsy on display
at KB Toys. Something
for all the girls and boys.
Orange dream.
Things aren’t always what
they seem…
Teenagers canoodle.
Kids play with
pool noodles in a ball pit.
Management doesn’t give a shit
as you hit rock bottom.
You’ve got a short fuse
and nothing to lose.
You had a good job
at a store on the second floor.
Waldenbooks. You loved
the work, but your boss,
a real jerk, didn’t care.
He said you stared at customers,
did as you pleased, and
put them ill at ease.
With that, you were fired,
so, you conspired.
You pulled your father’s gun,
a police-issued .38 Snub Nose Smith
& Wesson Revolver out of
your trench coat,
taking aim at everyone.
Bullets rain down,
a lethal hailstorm, hitting their mark.
The world goes dark as hapless
shoppers fall like dominoes,
riddled with pinpoint precision holes
spouting blood amongst the
incessant shouting as
their shopping bags
crumble and they
wither, like flowers
cut down before full bloom.
The little girl with the red balloon
along with her mother, promising
lives ended too soon.
Machine Gun/Latté
Poised and ready,
a tall, lean
National Guard
soldier, dressed in
full camouflage regalia,
stands at attention
on the main concourse
of Penn Station in
New York City.
In his right hand
he clutches a latté,
frothy and warm,
in a white
Starbucks cup.
His left hand
hovers above
a machine gun,
slung over his shoulder,
cold commanding,
sleek and menacing.
His trigger finger twitches,
roused by a jolt of caffeine.
Fuel for the fight.
Silent Judgement
George Gage sits in silent judgement,
watchful hazel eyes keenly focused on
woman sitting next to him on the crowded,
Manhattan-bound R train as it rumbles
through tunnels threatening to crumble, stopping
at pre-determined destinations, passengers come
and go, silent spectators traversing the
bustling corporate landscape. Keeping pace
in the brutal modern race.
Forced to wear a corporate noose,
his moral fiber quickly untethered.
Subway stare, Shelia Stein doesn’t care.
Her mind’s long gone. She finds it hard
to carry on, but does her best to
bear the weight. A daunting burden
that leaves her hurting more
than he will ever know.
She lost her job to some
corporate slob who robbed her
of her sanity and her dignity.
Now, there’s nothing left and
she’s bereft. A victim of
the ultimate theft.
Alien Buddha Press 