My Cardboard Balcony

Coddled Eggs by Belinda Roddie pop me in the coddling dish watch my eyes turn yellow like yolks and my skin curl in white shavings so delicious when you devour me I settle in your stomach I settle in your system I face the word "erosion" I wither into dust I am a fossil from the kitchen a relic of your culinary escapades a thoughtful reminder that you ought to eat more protein and Vitamin D

I will not sing our national anthem. You cannot make me do it. The words mean nothing to me as I stare at a flag that melts into red, white, and blue streaks of paint. It all bleeds into the bay, and I am left with nothing but a vague understanding of principles like "freedom" and "liberty," statements tossed around like a hot potato that people can barely touch. No, I will not sing our anthem, because I don't feel free or brave.