On that lawn each morning a little girl’s sandal rests in the grass. Today the flip-flop for weeks became a pink gellie, the color of my skin disease, but lighter. The white truck gassing mosquitoes just whined by in the dark, convincing no one. I wonder, as if to say goodbye, if the driver has a newspaper on his bench seat. I just got bit. After Labor Day, the ice cream van that played the theme from“The Sting” and Bach fugues stopped making its crawling rounds. I just now noticed it gone. Soon it will be summer again, I believe for a moment. Vampires are cool. That’s why they are so cool. I could explain everything, will be my last joke. My arrangements are not up to date. I prefer Basie’s. The rumor around the mill village is that a nuclear scientist haunts my house. I have denied nothing. I like to look at salt even more than I like to use it, it is so clean and chaste, making the heavy water lighter, lighter than the sea that drained from his scalpeled cheek in the midst. That shoe, later it got rained on, almost sweetly, but too late.
Further Reading
MAYDAY Magazine: Issue 10 Fall 2016
EDITORS’ INTRODUCTION Chase Dimock & Amy King LGBT Writing and the 21st Century FEATURED ARTIST Kelli Connell Double Life NONFICTION Alicia Anderson Nichts passiert in München (Nothing Happens in Munich) Consuelo Arias From New York City to Mar Chiquita: Evocations of a Singular Friendship Merrill Cole The Blond Sheep David Eye Messages from Howard Tyler […]
Ashley Shew Just Invented the Word Cryborg
by Jillian Weise
How to use it in a sentence. Elon Musk is such a cryborg when we critique neuralink. Don’t be a cryborg about it— just fucking provide access. After Stephen Hawking died all the cryborgs came out like “he’s walking in heaven.” Enough with your cryborg protest. We don’t care that you think the word “ableist” […]
Toast with Existential Dread
by Kamal E. Kimball
Friend, come here and touch my hem. You be the wind, I’ll be the hollow thing singing. I’m falling in love with every arm hair on every rider on this machine. The man in tube socks, ball-capped, reminds me of my father. How someday I’ll miss the old bastard (who I look […]
