by Howie Good
The woman from Human Resources had drowned on vacation. At her memorial service, the first speaker proclaimed, “To hell with facts!” I shook my head and went looking for the end of the American Century, but, as usual, arrived late. A man stopped beside the spot where I was standing on a heap of broken stones. He had a face like a derelict cathedral. I showed him the packet of seeds I had brought all the way from home. The directions on the back said, “Sow in average soil after danger of frost.” I can’t remember his exact advice. It must have been something along the lines of “Everywhere is anywhere.” With just my fingers, I began to dig.
There was a time when everyone wasn’t in such a hurry to fuck. I took long walks clutching a piece of paper with an address written on it. Sometimes I would sit down for a rest on a broken couch abandoned by the side of the road. In those days a person heard barking and birds. Hardly anyone says anything interesting anymore. It’s mostly user names and passwords and the howls of a woman giving birth in the attic to a series of monsters.
Whichever phone number I call, the suicide hotline rings. That’s the part I don’t get. Then the scene changes – a burned girl, about 10, hooked up to a morphine drip. Off in the distance, skyscrapers loom through 9/11 dust. I have no plans, and no secrets either. A camera is being developed for satellites that can view facial expressions from space. But don’t worry. The government can’t constitutionally use it yet. And unless you live somewhere sunny, they can’t see you anyway.
[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: bring me my spear o clouds unfold by J.A. Spahr-Summers. ©Copyright 2015, Jeffrey A. Spahr-Summers.
Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015
Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015