My Cardboard Balcony

The Tailor's Wife Had Measles by Belinda Roddie The tailor's wife had measles while he worked feverishly on the earl's new but long coat. The earl was rather diminutive, so he did not like it when his tails dragged across the pavement as he walked. So as his poor wife stayed in bed, a rash across her perspiring face, the tailor cut, trimmed, and hemmed all night, sewing up the new ends of the fine coat. He did not come up to the bedroom with a pot of tea, nor sing a crooner's tune to comfort his wife so ill. But then he found the earl sitting next to the poor girl next morning. "Why?" he cried. "She needed attention!" the earl replied.

Here's to hoping, really. Hoping that the country will get back on its feet. Hoping that some of its leaders will learn that compassion is stronger than determination and stubbornness. Hoping that a discount beer goes a long way to help those crumpled like paper under a pretty fragile system of governing. Really, hope is the only thing we can cling to. With hope, we can progress individually. Even if we have to leave the limping politicians by the side of the road.

Sponge by Belinda Roddie It's a kind of shame you can't sponge off, the suds collecting until the foam solidifies and turns to scabs on your raw thighs, chafing together as you try to run, but the running exhausts you after a while and you have to face the reality that if you aren't ashamed, you won't survive.

"That's your new car?" cried Charlene. "It looks like a tank!" "No, see, that would be awesome," Lindsay smirked as she hopped out of the driver's seat. "I mean, I could dominate everyone with a tank. But this is a jeep." "Jeep. Tank. Whatever. It's a flipping war vehicle!" "That's 'cause I'm a soldier, Char," replied her sister as she tipped the brim of her cap toward her left eye. "And I gotta drive like one, too."

Disappointment by Belinda Roddie it's when you realize the men in suits and ties are willing to choke themselves on knots instead of undo the straps caught around the constituents' wrists.

There was whiskey distilled from the brains of the politicians, so that if an idea sucked away at the membrane long enough, it would become drunk and belch out fermented excuses for rebellion, calling it the "people's choice," when dozens of wads of Benjamin Franklin's face proved otherwise when distributed to those with large enough suitcases. Journalists claimed that both sides were guilty, but this was not a game of fairness. It was a game that involved cheating, and one side was more adept at that than the other.

Shower of Cards by Belinda Roddie They turned on the spigot after I said, "Hit me," and all the spades dove like sharp hail, and the clubs rattled my back as they clattered to the tile below. And as I struggled to snatch a good hand, I noticed that, while the diamonds cut into me deeply, there was not a single heart to be found in the flood, and I was left half-drowned, black and blue and with very wet lines of red. I lost everything in the deluge, and they laughed so hard that king's tears sprang from their eyes.