Kirsten

The humming from the microphone echoed and Kirsten's shaky legs threatened to give out on her. How was it possible that she could spell twenty-letter diseases and speed through the lexicon of French cuisine yet flub a simple "i before e except after c"? Sweat had already begun to bead up on her forehead when the grating buzzer sounded to signal her failure.

"I'm sorry; that's incorrect." The facilitator stated simply. "You may return to your seat."

Eyes focused on her feet, Kirsten made her way back to her folding chair. Part of her was shocked by the cold of the grey metal seat, but it was buried so far beneath her disappointment that she her body didn't react to the stimulus. How upset her would parents be to R-E-C-E-I-V-E a loser from the bus stop that afternoon!

She struggled to raise her eyes to the imminent spelling champion as he approached the microphone. As he began to spell the word that was to become her terrible legacy at Shady Elm Middle School, he turned a glimmering eye to her and gave a simple wink. "Receipt. R-E-C-I-E-P-T."

The boy turned away from the microphone and began to walk back to Kirsten before the buzzer had even sounded. Kirsten could barely breathe -- he had thrown the game! She didn't know whether to be elated with her renewed chance to win or angered by his actions. What could have been going through his head to motivate this young boy's self-sabotage?

When Gary returned he selected the chair directly behind her own and managed a few words before Kirsten was invited to stand once again: "You're welcome."

Gold Explosions

gold explodes across 

the treeline and my shirt's stripes;

last barbecue this season?

Summer's End

as Summer's heart slows
leaves cling to dying branches.
Live well to the end.


*


summer's end foretold,
strength pools beneath Mother's breast.
sleep and dream of more

*

your crooked smile is
a sapling's bend in a breeze:
unassuming grace.

Dada Cookie

Sometimes I suspect sentences encased in fortune cookies are assembled in the same random way as Dada poetry with the same oracular effect. Wisdom lies in chaos, it seems.

Isobel

On those days the men insisted on planting themselves in front of the television and consuming immeasurable amounts of food from dishes they had no intention of cleaning, she dreamed of life in a zenana where testosterone only pervaded the premises briefly and for good reason. The men might have agreed with such an idea, had she revealed her thoughts to them.

sex and stimulus

i need to go to sleep or do something productive --
like fucking him until i can't think of anything else.
i'm using orgasm to tune out the truth, but which one:
truth for the long-term or just what i choose to see in a moment?
i can't be sure.
does my libido exceed my wisdom?
(i am often distracted by sex and stimulus.)
does the effect of the cause justify the motivation of the motion?
how many times have i posed such questions?
is there any point
or it is only echoes?

**HAIKU -- work on me