They have dealt my hand wrong.
A “Queen of Hearts” made to love a “King of Diamonds”
There is no room for an “Ace” in this deck

Happy Pride!

The killer dubbed The Pudger
has, it seems, struck again–
and police are no closer
to finally catching him

The victim was just seventeen–
her body scattered over miles–
though she disappeared nine months ago,
in her photo she still smiles

Authorities identified the girl
from recovered hair and teeth–
her head was found, nearly intact,
washed up onto the beach

The report was inconclusive,
even with the torso found on the shore,
but estimates by the medical examiner
say she had gained fifty pounds, or more

The Pudger victims have always been
young girls, lean and strong–
they say to make them gain the weight 
is why he keeps them all so long

The latest victim is number eight–
we pray she will be the last–
but The Pudger has the biggest appetite of all,
and his hunger grows so fast

Often, when young, I felt                                                                                                                          like a mushroom  
shunning the sun.                                                                                                                                        Pasty white, squat, bloated                                                                                                                        in cool, damp dirt.

But now I am
a marshmallow
in an opened package.
Pasty white,  
leathery skin,
soft innards hardening.
Someone put me
on a shelf
in the cupboard.

I sit here still.

Anticipation

Community service looms

Over the felon

I can’t listen to your story.
It will confuse my story
that I barely hold together
with spit and constant combing.  

If I get lost in your story
I’ll lose hold of my story, ‘
trip over orange traffic cones, ‘
and fall into the empty void.  

I’ll fall, story after story,
down       down         down.
I won’t remember having a life
or even my own name.

From the scruff of its neck, shame hangs its heavy head.

It falls gently from the delicate retriever mouth.

An offering lands at my feet.

That finally loyal dog’s hard earned tail wag.

A panting tongue in summer heat, sick of barking at all the damn noise.

The girl with the yellow hair found a place to rent on Emma Street in Key West. she had arrived & things were working out & she was happy. she got a job at a restaurant & met her boyfriend & moved in together & he was good to her. there were issues she mentioned but aren’t there always. friends & family came to visit & they drank rum & posed for photos on the beach.  

The girl with the yellow hair sold the beautiful art she made on the pier. she pulled a cart behind her bike & had a system for setting up an attractive display. she was ambitious & her purses were over the top with so much detail. it was hard to charge enough. tourists didn’t want to pay. she was in her element with her designs. her knee started hurting & she did research & leg work to get a knee replacement but there were drugs in her system & no one knows how or when they started. something to do with managing pain.

After learning all I could 
from the wild things in the wood
again I mingle with polite society

commensal coexistence suits me fine
tightrope walking the ultrathin line
between butterfly and barbarian

camouflaged in a little black frock
easily blending with the vulnerable flock
the right people at the right parties

a ladylike sip of Woodford Reserve
contemplate sinking my teeth in a nerve
less blood, more pain than a vein

with feral never far away
for now, I hold the beast at bay
but soon, I’m bound to bite.

Tri-col’r Mountain Curr
Prances, white-tip tail held high
She’s the perfect dog
Smart, cautious, clean and quiet 
Until she spies a varmit

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