Walter

Here he is, meet Walter, he was raised up on a farm
His pawpaw taught him to fear Jesus and never do no harm
Walter loved his mama, fried chicken, and fishing too
Pawpaw taught him about honor and sacrifice
Noble ideas worth a fight, son. They’d cost his left arm

Now I suppose everyone starts out about the same way
Some folks grind the gears and bounce down the highway
While others no doubt ride smooth rails of silver spoons
Life on the farm was full of bumps and bruises and pain
But Walter knew love and his heart there would stay

Aware

He set the revolver on the table next to the empty bottle and the last of his cash. He rubbed his eyes. Grit ground painfully.

He stood and grabbed the money off the table. One last trip to the liquor store. No hurry.

Outside the skies poured rain. He darted to the dry bus stop.

Automatic

“It’s automatic,” he said. His scar blazed violently.

Another’s eyebrow lifted. “The orders aren’t clear. We should call the may—”

“It’s done!” His eyes narrowed and lips stretched tighter.

The others all nodded their heads. Contempt crossed their faces.

Oversight

His first day and Simon was late. He jabbed the button on the elevator. “Close, damn it, close!” It stopped at the next floor, doors opened, and no one waited. Simon rolled his eyes. He mashed the button, his thumb turning white.

Finally, he reached the sixth floor and exploded from the stupid, archaic technology.

Capable

“I have nothing to hide.” I have everything to hide. Scumbag reporters’ questions blur into a peaceful white noise. I take a deep breath and smile.

The perky blonde in the front row waves her arm again. She is exactly my type. I point at her big boobs. “Yes? You in the pink?”

“Are you capable of providing

Specific Gravity

I swirl the wine in my glass. There is no recollection of having poured it. My world stretches monochrome and thin. Days spin as a stone wheel to grind away all the Blacksmith has once wrought, strength of body and sharpness of mind.

Damp shirts

Smoke

Homeward bound on I-84, we pass over bluffs and across ravines. The Columbia glides along beside the minivan, sunlight sparkling off ripples.

The muted sound of Temple Run. “How much longer?” The hum of so much concrete under rubber tires.

Mope

Don’t get me wrong. Those frenetic people than burn incandescent, seesaw through life, never crossing at a crosswalk aren’t me. Eddie, Becca, Jordan. They are all like that. Talking fast about topics they

Maddening

I roll the nylon out across the floor. It is strong enough. I shrug.

I remember the day of the revolution. Now it seems like a dream. Promises of greatness. Many of us believed.

Clouds drift past the hole in the roof.  

Burnt

“We’re here.”

The Jamison burned my throat as the car jerked to a stop.

Everyone piled out. I smashed the bottle on the pavement.

Voices were excited. We’d made vows.