My Cardboard Balcony

A Piece of Bread by Belinda Roddie A piece of bread just wanted to be toast all smothered in a sweet strawberry goo. But everyone's attention was on roasts, parfaits, and ice cream - a rich rendezvous. Bread could be more than just a throwaway decision for a breakfast half past ten. It could be quite a feast for the whole day, sticky with marmalade or margarine. A party all of toasts would be so fine to soothe the palate for a simple night, all crisp and brown, served with a glass of wine with each topping made for a man's delight. "I just want to be toast!" the poor bread cried. "Yeah, yeah," said cereal, "come back inside!"

"The ants went marching one by one, hoorah, hoorah!" "Griffith! That's not a nice song to sing while the ants are going straight toward the boric acid!" Griffith wrinkled his pug nose and shrugged. "Well, you're the one who thought about poisoning them in the first place." His sister, Lindsay, sighed. The whole bathroom had been infested with the buggers for a week, and the spray hadn't worked. She felt that she had to go to the extreme.

Never Ending by Belinda Roddie never ending pit of over saturated longing with a dash of pestilence that threatens to turn your brain upside down the more you think about it, the more you teeter on the precipice of something overly indulging of your left lobe's fear of dying falling dying falling downward never ending spiral of confusion over something like a virus or a tiny scratch you bruise all over crying for some way to make you less contagious when all you really can do is convey a new sense of resistance to the inevitable fact that everything is going to be okay.

The detective was a remarkable flirt, as every film noir dame seemed to swoon for his Brooklyn accent and his floppy fedora. At least, that's what it seemed like to the detective as he sipped from a martini glass and drew a picture of a dog eating a sandwich on his notepad. The Halloween party was going marvelously and several suspects had become so drunk that he could now question them. He'd have to talk to the Superman in the cheap franchise costume set soon enough.

Stepfather by Belinda Roddie Stepfather had the heart to buy me a birthday present wrapped up in gold foil with a bright pink bow. Opened it up and I found it was a relic from a little village in the Cajun swamps. He told me not to worry that it wasn't cursed or voodoo just a little something a friend bought from a souvenir store. The talisman was something special and I hung it up right where I kept a picture of my daddy dressed in his best brown suit with his arm around my mother smiling primly, pink lipstick on her face. It gleams purple dreams right across from my bedroom window where the portrait of me and my stepfather catches the light of the Harvard sun.

"Do you know who he is?" "Not a clue." "Seriously? I thought you had a class with him." "No, that guy was sexier." "Oh." "And he had a deeper voice." "Oh. So...how did he know my name?" "I don't know. Shouldn't I be the one asking you these questions?" "Oh. ...Yeah. Maybe. I guess." "So...do you have any idea who he is?" "Not a clue."

A Hospitable Man by Belinda Roddie At the clinic where I'd paid my dues in all civilized functions of society, from the tip book drawn out ribbons of inadequate emotional tenderness served on conveyor belts to the gray, cold, wide-eyed surveyors of all things hope, to the jar of cookies given to the wretched ladybug perched on the second floor window whispering little trances to the apartment complex next door - I found myself with relatively spare time to seek out a new friend located between Mrs. Hamilton's screaming fits and the tiny 108 room that never seemed to stay full. A man had been rolled in on his stomach after a nervous breakdown (though the term nervous breakdown is never ever used these days - it's just not that appropriate, you see) and he now resided in room 112 overlooking the Chinese restaurant leading into the wide-mouthed, red-lipped, white-tongued downtown orgasm that was the new city. When I came in w...