My Cardboard Balcony

Dear Diary by Belinda Roddie Left work at 2:35 PM today. Couple of explosions at the local refinery sent me reeling off course. GPS held my hand long enough to gleefully spin back toward the direction I came. Tried a detour and wound up at my parents' place for dinner. Ate lasagna in order to stomach the political debate on TV. Crawled on wheels in freeway darkness for almost another two hours before arriving home. ETA: 9:10 PM. I need a nightcap.

Ow, I Adore You by Belinda Roddie It's interesting how infatuation can feel like whiplash - how a kiss can leave a sunburn if you don't prepare for the glow. You lean forward, put your head between your knees, because the pounding in your chest's creating vertigo and there's no safe way for you to swoon for her. So you hide your face. You hide your lips. You hide your watering eyes. Deep breaths remind you of your own cadence. She is so far away now, yet she scatters dry leaves beneath your feet. They don't crunch under your heel, though; all they do into flatten out, admit defeat, a TKO on an autumn evening. Now you need ice for your sore neck.

Terminus by Belinda Roddie The rain has stopped. Rarely does it ever come to visit, and this time, it wasn't so brief a stay. To the east, the port rumbles with newfound waves. Salt stings the eyes of sailors who dream of going back to sea again. Meanwhile, a Lotus appears to be lost in American territory, jostling its way down battered asphalt and clumsy humps of gravel and stone. Its destination: The market, for fish and bait. You stop for a refill at a gas station, watch the British automobile circle around you before leaving for any sad semblance of town. But for you, you're used to it. It's here. You're home. You make your way to the game shop between Fifth and Seventh street; there is no sixth street, due to good old-fashioned superstition. The space smells like pizza and beer and stale body odor. The corner table is always set up for you. You palm the gun metal twenty-sided dice in your left hand. Your friend, nameless when it comes to a good match, shuffles...