Smoking on a Wet Evening has been published in Issue 47 of ScribesMICRO. You can check it out at: https://www.fairfieldscribes.com
Correction: New Publication
It’s Been Nearly 250 Years
It’s time to come together. It’s been nearly 250 years since those guys in Philly signed that treasonous document, declared those self-evident truths. Yesiree, we’ve had a good run. Gone from hick colonies to hip leader of the free world. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of association. Exercised any rights lately?
Rights are a muscle. You need a dig-your-heels-in protest mentality when rights are taken away. Don’t take your rights for granted. Check to see, empty your pockets, are your rights still there? What about your neighbor’s and their neighbors? We need each other in these times.
Hedgehog, Harlequin, Hummus
The falafel place got hopping around seven. All sorts would come. Teens in balaclavas and tweens blasting K-pop. Some had coffees, particularly the matrons who clustered in little groups and read the menu.
At the end of the line, the harlequin stood in a multicolored silk suit, a hedgehog perched on his shoulder.
“Is it all prickly?” A child, barely twelve, looked up at the painted face of the man and the sweet animal on his shoulder.
“Not really.” Harlequin cupped it in his hands.
“Can I hold it?”
The hedgehog was amenable. It sniffed.
“I think it smells hummus.”
Creating a Movement on Flag Day
Signs from the 7×7 stand-in along El Camino from Palo Alto to Sunnyvale: “IKEA has better cabinets,” “No Kings, More Queens,” “…and to the republic for which it stands…,” “We can all hang together, or we shall surely hang separately- Ben Franklin.”
A beat up World War II jeep sporting a sign: “Fighting facism since 1943.” Honks and thumbs up galore from cars decked out with flags and signs declaring love and approval for the exuberant display of democracy filling the streets. This is what democracy looks like. To would be dictators and syncophants: the people have found a voice.
Another Big, Beautiful Wall
DOGE riffed Congress. “They’re a waste of space.” The ACLU protested to the Supremes and lost 5-4, in an unsigned opinion. Executive orders are now the law of the land.
His majesty, Donald I, plans to build a “Big, Golden Wall” in the oval office as a backdrop for signing executive orders. He led a column of minions wheeling suitcases filled with gold bars from Fort Knox. He declared, “Forget gold; Bit Coin is the new normal.”
Next up: inefficiency in the court system. DOGE sent layoff notices to all federal court judges, including the Supremes. There are no appeals.
Making Up Stuff
There are house elves in my basement. My therapist says this is a delusion. But, she’s not here at night when they clatter around in the kitchen making noise. My partner rolls her eyes.
What makes them think the elves are not real? This is totally likely, aside from the fact that we have no basement and no decent place for an elf to set up housekeeping or raise a family. I ask you, how can dishes get done and meals cooked while I stay in bed dreaming? My therapist thinks it’s my partner and my partner agrees. They’re deluded.
Ode to Kohnan
His eyes were open and stayed that way
Aware and dignified, right up to the end.
A mensch, reserved, not prone to delay,
Loyal to a fault, on that you can depend.
Saucy he was in the final hours,
Demanded kibble, a last meal at midnight.
Poured out love, licks, and reassurance.
Despite his weak body, his power
Did prolong the end, enough so that we might
Say woof, shed our tears, take one last dance.
He knew it was the end. We, quite sure, thought that he would rally.
He lay quiet, dignified, a friend and most trusted ally.
Mirror, Mirror
I expect he’s as bad as she was. They’re all the same. “Mirror, mirror.” They don’t ask my name. If they do, they never remember. Damn, here he comes. The fairest of them all. Gold skin, gold hair, gold picture frames. More like the fakest of them all.
The paunch is real. It’s the size of New Jersey.
Queen Evil knew the truth. She was out for revenge as soon as she saw the real beauty standing behind her. I’ll tell him what he wants to hear. Or I’ll go so dark even his sparkly gold won’t bring me back.
A Quiet Morning
Exiled to the backyard,
While inside the termite inspector inspects,
Kohnan limps to the door,
Pleads with liquid brown eyes.
He doesn’t bark; has no energy for that these days.
“He’s friendly.”
The inspector nods. Kohnan sidles in quietly.
He’s drawn blood.
He can be protective, even with friends.
Not now. Mornings he wakes up slowly in a fog of old age.
He’s at my feet,
Moving his head to the sound of steps in the attic.
The sun falls in patterns,
Warms my legs, his arthritic hips.
Warmth is welcome to us both, we’re grateful spring is coming fast.
The News Went Straight to Her Waist
Elsie was in such a rut. Doomscrolling was her go-to activity. Things changed with an e-mail. She’d won a weekend at a luxury spa. She woke in a fancy hotel, took a yoga class, and had donuts for breakfast with her personal trainer.
The girl finished her yogurt. “Any trouble spots?”
Her tummy, always her tummy. The mound that amplified her waist had expanded recently. “I want a flatter stomach.”
”You’re a stress eater.”
“How could you tell?”
The trainer said, “Your T-shirt.”
It said, “Hands off my junk food, you fascist.”
“We’ll start with your social media. Then, pilates.”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 