My Cardboard Balcony

Tight-Lipped by Belinda Roddie Tight-lipped strangers sleeping in a snowy manger. Horse mane, slipping tail down the front of a dreamer's jeans. Coarse jerks, framed faces, trying to find rest in nicer places, corny lullabies, winter breath cooling down summer flesh. If the disciples are not here by sundown at the end of the year, then the nomads will find refuge in a different modest temple, where baked bread will be served, and dry fish will be ample, enough to sample minimalist pleasure in a Gothic architect's design. My house is not a dust bin, and I am not a failure within, and it's not much to ask for quiet when I'm driving my mind through bridges. Try crossing them, and you'll fall into a muddy water hole, spreading legs out asking for love, when the stables pile with tragedies, and the rich stop counting money, just to see our kind in mangers. I Brought You Two Salads by Belinda Roddie I brought you two salads for us...

If walls could talk, they'd have card games, smoking cigars and hooting with papered mustaches, gaudy patterned neckties, and those painted waistcoats. While the tables and chairs would wish they could have a keg party, on all their own, were it not for the fact that decks of blackjack frenzies were laid upon them.

Governor's Gravy by Belinda Roddie Governor was his real name because his papa greeted everyone with, " 'Ello, gov'nah!" and thought that it'd be easier for him to remember his son's can label. Governor was the one in our family who brought the turkey and gravy for Christmas. While we'd stuff ourselves with stuffing, Governor would grab the gravy boat and drink half of it on its own, no food to go with it. His papa would make a face, and Governor, nestling his nose into his boyfriend's arm, would smugly ask, " 'Ow you like that, gov'nah?"

Various people in various restaurants. Three stars, four stars, five stars. Diner food, hamburgers laced with toxic mayonnaise. Ready to kill after a good meal? Well, unfortunately, the arsenic has a lousy aftertaste. Best to apply the hedonistic aspect to a last dinner, right? You think I'm too kind a killer. Well, I've enjoyed my triple grilled cheeses before. My milkshakes and my curly fries. And I certainly wouldn't want to die with the taste of death in my mouth.

Browful by Belinda Roddie browful of questions, making silly gestures, drinking pots of chemical reactions from a test tube, two test tubes, three test tubes, lined up on a kitchen counter. questions like why does this taste funny and what's wrong with this coffee and why do my eyebrows seem to be growing rapidly and turning into furry writhing serpents on my perturbed face

“With our powers combined, we shall rule the – ” “Question.” The newest supervillain, Viper Victor, sighed loudly and pointed at his might-be-new-but-already-reconsidering-it sidekick. “Yes, Rob?” “What if our powers combined isn’t, well, quite enough?” Victor breathed sharply through his nostrils. “What?” “As in the chemical reactions that result wouldn’t…” “Stop it, Rob.”

October Heat Wave by Belinda Roddie Two years ago, it began with a makeshift water siphon fan contraption followed by four hard milkshakes (St. Breandan's sweet liqueur, with peanut butter cups ground into a fine deliciousness to boot). One year ago, I can't even recall tempting Helios' chariot like this. But now I long for an off-kilter romanticism like when I was in "Valhalla" scooping vanilla out of a large plastic bucket watching "The Shield" with cold, cold cider, with good friends each night.