The Preacher danced on the graves of the wicked
the wicked! The wicked did perish!
I told you so!
All the voiceless women
the stoned, the burned, the buried, the raped
he danced and danced spinning
like another religion
the girl drew up taller than before
the ground shifted
the preacher stumbled
Sam threw out a warning arm
she stood solid while the earth tipped
the Preacher fell into the dust and rocks
how do you know the wicked?
because they are gone!
the howl danced from his lips
lost in a train whistle
The cars were surround by skeletons with long fingered hands
Mad Max meets O. Henry
Sam hefted a full tin of gas
we need a worthy receptacle
it took hours until they found a sports car
slung low, fast he promised
It roared to life
she clutched the seat
the window screaming like the demons from hell
she never moved this fast.
Sam yelled straight from his soul
careening over the flat white desert
in a more or less straight line.
sound trailed behind them
– 100 miles an hour for just that long
Her heart was forever damaged by all that speed
do it again
Ketchup bottles red as the setting sun
the old waitress served them ketchup
specialty of the house
@The Last Café on Earth
I was in the meat freezer
always hated to go in.
of course I was trapped for like 97 hours
all that cold meat
her nametag read Fran not her real name –
just the name left
she fingered her tight neck
pink scars growing up over her sharp chin.
tell me again about the Mother God
the same who cracked Pandora’s box
unlocked Blue Beard’s last room
inspired the flood
the angry gods hunted and destroyed
but the Mother God patiently gathered body parts flung across the Nile
reassembled into a better person missing
an eye, back of a heel, sometimes a hand
she watches over us
the girl concluded.
The waitress sighed
Sam rolled his eyes
Happy National Poetry Month!
This is one of eight chapters of Drinks @ the Last Cafe.