My Cardboard Balcony

Asphyxiation by Belinda Roddie Laughter's the best medicine. Until you can't breathe, that is.

Freshly Baked Loaf by Belinda Roddie Chelsea made sourdough for the two of them, and they ate it with butter and olive oil mixed with garlic and marinated peppers. And they drank cheap red wine and emptied two bottles. And they danced to bad pop music from an online radio app. And they drunkenly made out on the air mattress that Chelsea had set out for her guest. She had never meant to fall in love with Amber. But she would have homemade cinnamon rolls ready in the morning. This week's prompt was provided by, funnily enough, my cat Binx. Because when he tucks his paws under his body when he lies down, my wife and I lovingly call him a "freshly baked loaf."

Selective by Belinda Roddie "I don't eat peaches," said Clyde. "I drink peach tea."

God damn, I'm scared. Scared of autocracy finally leaving its bootprint on our faces. Scared of our democratic experiment failing. Scared of communities far less privileged than my own suffering more than they already are. And what have I done? Played an angsty pubescent white boy who got way more slack than boys of color? God damn it. God fucking damn it. Just vote, okay? Vote Biden in. I don't care if you dislike him. Better the enemy you know, right? Just stop the fucking tyranny. Just save the fucking country. Just get over your purist bullshit. Okay? Okay? Okay. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Kentucky Fried Hypocrite by Belinda Roddie Fuck Mitch McConnell.

Batman? by Belinda Roddie Be careful what you wish for. You might get rabies.

I Totally Forgot by Belinda Roddie I totally forgot to write this damn sonnet! Oh, well, better late than never. Now it's all out of order, and I can't seem to get over my compulsive nerves about it. Still, I'll have to remember that it's four hundred seventy-seven sonnets next week. My life has been a blur, so no wonder I mucked it up. But then, this still doesn't explain why fifty of my sonnets just up and disappeared. Google's a twat, but it's a mystery why I lost so many posts. Now I hear my neuroses screaming at me to stop, so I'll finish this garbage poem - chop, chop!