Today's OneWord: Trenches

The girls dug out three trenches in the mud, the gravel pickled with almost salty rain, and waited quietly for someone to walk by. They trusted no one in this dead zone. They shouldered pistols and a grenade each, a smear of dirt under each eye. Not to look cool, but instead to camouflage in the wet, murky gloom.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tonight's Poet Corner: Get Out Of Here, Kid

Get Out Of Here, Kid by Belinda Roddie Skullman's out looking for you, boy. He's dressed in black and pissed as Hell. He's carrying two Colts as slick as your hips, and he's ready to stud your waistline with steel. You better think about rushing your ass down to the border, hide yourself in a bag of grain and get shipped to Mexico. You'll be fed like the cattle on a small, remote farm, and when you're old enough, you'll head back with your belt drooping and your eyes blazing under a cowboy hat, so you can jam a shotgun barrel up Skullman's bony nostril and fire three times in a row just to make sure he's dead.
Read more

Tonight's Poet Corner: Introspection

I don't believe in such a thing as new beginnings. New beginnings imply starting fresh with no baggage, and in all honesty, to do such would be asking for a full frontal lobotomy before stepping back out into the polluted air of the real world. In fact, I would say going for a new beginning is unhealthy, not only in the fact that to do so would be to erase important lessons from the past, but also in the idea that what you ended was something not remotely beneficial at all. I do understand the importance of being able to live your life as if you've been reborn. Whether it's through religion, romance, a career choice, or simply bailing out of a place with one suitcase and a wad of cash, we all sometimes feel the need to get away and start somewhere else. But that's the thing we have to remember: We still lived those years of our past, and they were still worth something. Even if the only happy moments you can scrape from the wreckage of your previous experiences only a...
Read more

Tonight's Poet Corner: Usually

Usually by Belinda Roddie Usually, I stick to scruples, feeding myself a teaspoon of morality mixed with just the right amount of cinnamon and a hint of granola. Healthy. Hearty. Gives you breath in your body on a September heartland morning. Sometimes, however, I skimp on breakfast, grab my briefcase, and march out the door only to have my conscience miss the train, and I'm left alone on the rails, scowling, scouring, looking for opportunities to self gain and self maintain, without focusing on fairness for others. So when I return home, contorted like a lamppost struck by a stray SUV, I try to drip scruples back into my meal, but usually it grows tart in salty stuff, and I feel bloated and guilty by the time I go to bed.
Read more