April, 2024

Four pieces by Chris Bullard

Exposed

Summer, I leave it out. In winter I bring it in. Sometimes, I see life budding on the branches. Soon, things are back to normal.

 Desir Le Vernis

“Passing through,” we said.

And they? “We have our roots here.”

“Must be nice,” we said.

“No place better,” they replied.

They stayed. We fled.

Now or Never

Lanes shut, mid-town closed, whole blocks under construction. Our Irish aunt, asked what she thinks of the burg, says, “Grand, it’ll be, when it’s finished.”

Big Apple Red

Love bobs above me like a feathered lure. I set my lips to the hook. Thrashing, I’m taken up bodily into a breathless new world.

Chris Bullard, meh, don’t ask.

Ten pieces by Len Kuntz

Glitter

The stripper’s name was Glitter. She resembled a neighbor girl I once knew, but naked. My Best Man walked away, said, “All bets are off.”

Champagne

The flute stood like a broken scarecrow, shards atop the tablecloth.  My Best Man made a toast, not a soul noticing my bloody palm.

Emerald

Our first night as newlyweds. While she snored, I counted sheep that died in mid-air. In the morning, we made fierce love, ceiling pounding.

Apricot

We were new. She had questions about our future. Honeymoon? Kids? I started to speak, but a pit in my throat blocked any answer.

Complexion

A week in, the ceiling caved. The ground shifted. A fire started down the hall. We were married and there was no going back.

Antique

While she snored, I stared at my grandmother’s ring on her finger. Even with mere moonglow seeping in, I could see we were ancient.

Maroon

We slept separate. The walls hummed or chanted. When I awoke, she was gone, to her lover’s place, so I made coffee, piping hot.

Purple

The bruise resembled Haiti, enflamed already on my cheek. When I asked about the guy, she threw a plate and it hit its mark.

Bronze

She tanned naked backyard. Didn’t care about the boys next door. The dog swirled around sniffing, almost outraged, and so I did the same.

Aubergine

We signed papers without malice. The lawyers looked glad. On the way out, I kissed her, her biting my lip like it was ham.

Six pieces by Tricia Lloyd Waller

Mimosas for Mr. and Mrs.

‘NO’ she shrieked tipping over the Crystal goblet; rich red wine spreading like forest wildfire across the starched snow-white tablecloth.
‘Mimosas were HER favorite flowers!’

Teal the Cows Come Home

Oh, baby teal stop going on so. Be more mallard!
Swimming is what we do every single day. Of course you’re not afraid of water!

I Have a Herring Problem

Smoked, kippered, brined, pickled even dried. I just adore a small-headed, streamlined, silvery, iridescent herring and so dearest reader I asked him to marry me.

Boys be Thistle-ing at Me

Oh, Mother why be boys thistle-ing at me when other maidens be given red roses?
Someday your Princess will come I promise (tongue in cheek)

Now Museum Now You Don’t

This is ridiculous! I was only here last month to view Galina brasses; So where is it now?
How can you lose a Victorian museum?

Shattered Souls

‘Your golden yellow sunflowers are magnificent!’
The sweet becardiganed gardener replies
‘All in the compost.’ as she attempts to hide the jar marked ‘Shattered Souls’

Tricia Lloyd Waller prefers fairy tale to reality and the patterns you can spin by rearranging words. She has recently had work accepted by The World of Myth and Ukiyo Literary Magazine.

Bubble Bath by L. J. Caporusso

The old woman shivered in a tub of dirty water, remembering how they used to drink red wine in a hot bubble bath before bed.

L. J. Caporusso lives in Toronto. Her writing has appeared in Blink-Ink, Molecule, Friday Flash Fiction, Little Old Lady Comedy and 50 Words Give or Take. Visit her at www.ljcaporusso.com .