My Cardboard Balcony

I'm Sorry That I Died by Belinda Roddie " I'm sorry that I died," said Roger, "but you still have to admit that it was time. The awful fits of coughing, blood like rust escaping from my lips - the horrid grime that coated the back of my throat! It parched me so that no drink could satisfy me. The way my legs gave out and how I lurched about the house and stumbled to my knees. I was quite old, my dear, and very gray - I did not have the strength to laugh or walk or even please you in cold night, hot day, or warmer afternoons. I could not talk, or smile, or love the way I'd done in youth. You'll die soon, too, and then you'll see the truth."

I was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure that my brother was a shapeshifter. It happened when I first saw a tabby sitting at the computer. Then a raccoon watching TV on the couch. I'm not quite sure how he garnered the talent. Maybe from some sort of mishap in chemistry class. Or some intergalactic tool he received like in Animorphs . Or maybe I just left the front door partially open during the night and some pests came in.

The Yo-Yo by Belinda Roddie   The yo-yo snapped back into his hand like a dragon's head on a frail string, golden eyes gleaming for sustenance, and the coyote howled a eulogy for the reptilian barbarian god of war and carnage while the sparks in the sphere went red, red, red, red, dark.

When the prints were ready, David hung them out to dry and watched the images ooze out in red patterns before him. Upstairs, his wife was making dinner in the kitchen, the TV blaring an old Seinfield episode with the same old bass transitions. In the backyard, his sons were playing catch. As his eyes focused and unfocused, David morphed in the red glow around him, completely at peace.

Bottle ( Inspired by the Cinquain Structure) by Belinda Roddie Stained stained stain the brain until I go insane. Cheers. Bottle bottle bottle the mottled fits of blue rain. The perfect little dance on the train. Make a crane out of your hands and cram the booze-y junkyard into both sides of your ears, until your face is red and purple and stained stained stained the brain. I'm drunk but still insane. Cheers.

You have a patent for a hamburger. Which means you've got a patent on beef. Which means you've got a patent on genetically engineered cows. The beginnings of a mad scientist's wet dream as he controls all the cattle in the world for scientific purposes. Elsewhere, a woman invents a new type of computer. Steve Jobs' ghost snatches it up before it goes public. And all the while, people are growing rhino horns from patented genetic bacon cheeseburgers.

Clinic by Belinda Roddie   She stood against the railing, knuckles white, marble glaring outward at the white bed with white sheets. Her lover was speaking with a masked medic who nodded and scratched at binder paper with a jaunty pen that had no ink. She didn't know whether to cry or scream but this whole thing felt like a dream and either way, she would walk into that room very soon and hold her lover to her chest as the tears mingled into the deep IV.