Day 113 – Another Beast

From the moment my fingers
close around my glasses
I am another beast

They close around steering wheels,
dry-erase markers,
red pens and credit cards,
zippers and shoelaces,
milk cartons,
band-aids,
and
chalk

but when they hold my glasses
like you’d hold a climbing rope
a stress ball, a life preserver;
like you’d hold a newborn,
a lightsaber, a key

I am ready to read
I am ready to see
I am ready to be free

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52 Flashes of Fiction Week 2: Letting It Go

I always have to pee at the gym. I think it’s probably my body’s last-ditch excuse to get out of pain, like some kid who didn’t study for his math test and would rather get caught unraveling toilet paper and get sent to the front office than stay in the room and sweat. I did that once.

But this kind of torture is different because I’m doing it to myself- is this how grown-ups behave? I ask myself this as I’m holding it as long as I possibly can because pausing for a potty break will throw off my whole workout. I’m not supposed to stop running for another six minutes.

I’m actually considering adult diapers when this like ten-year-old kid comes in and skids into the bathroom on those stupid little wheely shoes that save exactly zero seconds from just walking like a normal person. I don’t even think about it but then suddenly I’m in the bathroom loudly pontificating to the mirror that “THOSE WHEELY THINGS REALLY SHOULDN’T BE IN THE GYM, I’M SO GLAD NO ONE HERE IS THAT INSENSITIVE TO THE RULES WHICH ARE IN PLACE FOR THE BENEFIT OF OTHER PATRONS.”

There’s a flush and I feel a panic like my guts are about to explode down my leg but the little cretin just rolls her eyes and says “Get over it” and I certainly will not. So I march straight to the check-in desk and announce to the first person I see standing there that there is a rule-breaker on the premises and could they please get her out of here because she’s ruining my concentration. And this pimply guy is just staring at me all buggy-eyed and says “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

And I look down and of course I’ve lost it on the linoleum and I just point at the kid and yell “JUST LOOK WHAT SHE MADE ME DO!”

And you know what? They escorted her out.

Day 169 – Hold My Hand in the Grocery Store

The very last thing I’m waitin’ for,
someone special to adore:
I want a man
to hold my hand
in the grocery store.

Together traipsing down the aisles,
fingers locked, trading smiles
hands in a vice,
comparing price
over checkered linoleum tiles.

We wouldn’t let go to push the cart-
not for one second would our hands part-
we’d each push with one
’til the shopping was done,
our love on display in Food Mart.

And should we come to a mid-aisle pole
to interrupt our grocery stroll
we’d never back down,
arms wrapping around,
all the closer to console.

When the paramedics at last arrive
they’ll find it easier to contrive
to chop down the pole
than to sever our whole
for separate we wouldn’t survive.

And then we shall have to learn to do
with completing every task by two-
a permanent pair,
a couple so rare-
to prove our devotion is true.