My Cardboard Balcony

My Wife Kissed Me by Belinda Roddie My wife kissed me good night and went to work with white florescent lamps above her head. She'd wear a mask and blood specks on her shirt as she tried to re-animate the dead. The brittle bone would snap in her hands. She would squeal in sharp exasperation when the heart would not beat. The tongue would not scream obscenities once body breathed again. Then one cold summer, stained with weariness, my wife lit up the eyes of a young girl who grew frightened and quivered in protest of being brought back to the scary world. My wife kissed me good night. Her hot lips burned. She's with her daughter and has not returned.

I slouch. I slurp. I slip up. Again. I thought I was better than this. 3 o’clock on the computer. Three minutes fast. I screwed up again. Hammer to the head. They glare at me. What did I do wrong? I’m trying. I really am. I’m isolated. I’m failing. No papers are coming in. I’m writing in my journal. No. Not allowed. All my fault I’m not doing well. All my fault. All my fault. All my fault.