My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie I love you very much, but do you really have to stand right where I need to see? Right where the stampede leaves the sand kicked up in clusters of threes and fours? Do you really have to block my view of the revolution - the one just outside my window? Can you observe their rallies better than I can? Can you take notes in your mind? Archive the slogans in your memories? Feel the fury pulse in your veins like overly oxygenated blood? Do you hear them condemn the emperor as well as I can from the corner? I adore you with all my heart, but must you obstruct my line of sight when the phantoms are convening in front of the castle, and they have weapons sharper and stronger than pitchforks? I can hear their wailing, but watching them swarm will give me better context. Context that you deprive from me when you decide to sidle in front of me. I am a phantom. My skin is cold from so many anxious nights. I want to punch the evil out of angry people's skulls. I want

"You're a liar." "True." "And a fraud." "Also true." "And a poor excuse for a human being." She raised one finger. "Actually, I resent that." "Beg pardon?" "I may be a liar," she intoned with a smile, "and a fraud, but I'm pretty sure I'm a pretty decent human being. You know, anatomically and physiologically and the like. I think my body's pretty well constructed human being-wise."