My Cardboard Balcony

It's been a roller coaster week. Things on one hand are doing great, and progress is being made with my students. On the other hand, I'm making mistakes. Lots of them. I've saying stupid things and having a hard time kicking old habits. Why does improving on being a teacher have to be so damn hard? No real complex write-up this week because I'm pretty drained. But having my second graders perform a talent show to my boss with dancing to Carly Rae Jepsen and reading a poem together definitely is something to be proud of. Sleep beckons, though. I'm working extra hours tomorrow at my site. Fun stuff. But it's worth it for the end result. Writer's Quotation of the Night: If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. - Toni Morrison Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Cardboard Crosses by Belinda Roddie About four months ago, I moved into a one-story house on the corner of Simmons and Benton with my wife Lindsay and my daughter Sam.  It was one of the only one-stories on the street, repainted and revamped, and the mortgage was tolerable given our family’s double income.  Sam didn’t mind how big the house was as long as she had her own room to decorate.  She was bouncing on the balls of her feet when I showed her around the place.             “Can we paint it blue?” she asked me over dinner that night.  “I’ve always wanted a blue room.”             The three of us were eating pizza because we were too worn out from unloading the moving van to go grocery shopping.  Sam was stripping the cheese off her slice and shoving the gooey ribbons into her mouth.          ...

Lily was at the scene in a sprint and a hop, looking for the outline drawn in stark white on the asphalt. She was the first to be there, before the detectives, snapping shots for the department as the greenhorn Kentucky Rodriguez approached her. "What've we got, girl?" he asked. "Double homicide," she replied.

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.