My Cardboard Balcony

Lifelong Companion by Belinda Roddie I like that my pet dragon scares away the pigeons so they don't wake me up at six AM on Saturday with their incessant warbling, their morse code passing messages back and forth before my dragon incinerates their communication links. Go back to smoke signals, you winged rats. My winged beauty will help me sleep better, despite his soot-tinged snoring.

"Give me the keys!" "What?" "Give me the keys to your car!" "What?!" She was wild-eyed now. Her hair practically stood on end, and she was waving her hands in front of my face frantically. "I need to get out of here. Give me your keys!" "Didn't you drive?" "No! But now Caleb's in the next room, and I need. To. Get. Out of here!"

This Land Is Your Land by Belinda Roddie There are children behind fences in this sweet land of the free that we took from natives so it could belong to you and me. There are children behind fences, red and sobbing for their mothers, while the men in uniform all joke of the need for "conductors." Hear the kids scream for their parents who risked everything for refuge - but, sure, say that they deserve it while you hug your niece or nephew. Now, a man shouts at the camera to a monster, "Sir, how dare you!" There is evil lurking everywhere, and yes, it better scare you. For the children behind fences may have TVs, but no solace. They are torn from love and comfort by men both heartless and lawless. You can act like this is unexpected from the red and blue, but the flag we wave's been blood-stained for years: This is nothing new.

Ghirardelli Guy by Belinda Roddie Have you heard of the Ghirardelli Guy? He passes out hot chocolates after five, when the summer turns to dead winter at night; he'll add whipped cream if you're extra polite. The Ghirardelli Guy is eight feet tall, though his eyes and ears are very small. He's dark and thin like an electric wire, smiling with teeth as worn as a tire. He used to run a booth beside the bay, not far from where tourists bought their sundaes, all scooped and served with Ghirardelli treats, a city staple that could not be beat. The owner of the Ghirardelli shop was not fond of the odd and lanky fop selling hot chocolates melted from its brand, so she asked him to move his cocoa stand. So now he walks up and down Market Street, handing the homeless cups of confection sweet. The drinks are well-received, with twinkling eye. So skips along the Ghirardelli Guy.

Chester mowed the lawn, while Rosalyn raked the leaves. Their father drank a spiked iced tea on the porch, his eyes already glazing over despite the fact that it wasn't even afternoon yet. The heat would encroach the neighborhood in about an hour or so, so the teens were doing their best to get the yard work done before they were caught in a sweltering, humid haze.