My Cardboard Balcony

A Jester Stood by Belinda Roddie A jester stood atop the pinnacle of a skyscraper in Chicago haze, picking up wind in sound cylindrical bursts. When the moon came out, its pearly gaze made the foppish belled man easy to see. All the tourists stopped and stared, quite enthralled, but the citizens walked by carelessly and did not slow to view the spectacle. Many asked how on earth he could balance on the monstrous and shining monolith. Would he lose footing and perhaps by chance in mere minutes fall quickly to his death? And who was the true fool? The jester high above their heads, or people asking why?

"This day's been a grind." "Grind...grind. I've heard that word before." "Yeah, I'm sure you have." "No," interjected Randy, "I mean it means something. Like something from my past. Something that's been haunting me for ages." Alan blinked. He was a co-worker of Randy's at the deli. Not a therapist. "Like...the Daily Grind coffee shop down the street?" "No," replied Randy. "Too easy."

Yolk by Belinda Roddie Whisking a bleeding eye and letting the cream soak in, dipping hot oil into hot oil into hot oil, seeping in the corners of tear ducts leaking harsh, white fluids. They let the stuff gel in a cylindrical appreciation of the culinary art of cold cadavers, plucking bones from frosty glass, simmering souls in carbon steel. When it cools, they serve it like a pageant for the altar, a fattened calf, a sleekened sheep, a bloated ball of blubber for the undertaking. Not to eat, just to look at, and admire, and let grow lukewarm until it's dead. Mom, I don't like what they made for the bake sale. The cupcakes are stale and the frosting turns to dust particles in my all too eager mouth. When I lick away blue icing, it turns gray and petrifies on the tongue. The cookies are dry and the lemonade drier. They always offer broken crackers and cheese. Sometimes doughnuts and cold coffee. The tea's not much better. The hot cocoa's ninety p...

"I'm having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." I couldn't help it. I spat out a whole sticky wad of baked beans. "And what?" "Jelly." "That's disgusting!" She looked at me like I had sprouted two heads. But then something clicked. "Oh, right. Jam. I'm having jam. Not...well..." "Yeah." I wrinkled my nose teasingly. "Because that would be right nasty."

Cream Cake Shops by Belinda Roddie When I wasn't selling enough sugary tiers for the same-sex couples who cavorted around the village, I thought maybe I should confide in the baker rolling out worms to sour in the musk. I asked him how many gold coins he got from the beaming pairs, frosted heads, iced smiles, laced everything with cold fondant. He said he got silver. Only silver. And he extended a hand white with flour but still pinker than the skin caking his cheekbones for me to shake.

Richard the Twenty-Third signed the treaty that ended the Battles of Montoya and Grinjo. Never mind that the two countries didn't exist, there were no battles, and that Richard was just a seven-year-old named Ricky playing with toy knights ending a major conflict. But hey, he could be the best diplomat in the future. One never knows.

King Snake by Belinda Roddie King snake lost its crown in a two-story's garage with a sleek concrete shelter and lots of black bags to hide under before the whiskers of an angry broom man whisked it onto a driveway where it will seek out rats and rattlesnakes to silence.