Thirteen Myna Birds

13.

~Chandra Alderman~

*

12.

~Chandra Alderman~

*

11.

Wedding Night

Now that I have married you,

the god-like you,

the golden you,

and finally nailed you down,

now that I have nose-ringed you,

I dream that you bring me to the store

and exchange me

for a prettier prom queen,

a bra-less babe in a tacky motel —

then you become Godzilla

with a woman in your mouth.

Yes,

now that I've managed to marry you

(modeling my mama, grandma, and assorted strangers in movies),

I wonder if you are my nemesis.

The moments creep by like clouds, chess pieces, cattle.

Remote, in pain, in a dream, mewling,

I crawl into our honeymoon cabin bed,

where you roll in your sleep

like machinery,

crushing me.

~Eileen Murphy~

*

10.

My lips are blond

“You should think about changing your hair to strawberry.”
I was strawberry for ten years.
I’ve been many colors: chestnut, pineapple, grape.
But I won’t dye it blue like I did in ninth grade: I’m no longer confused and angry.
I should dye it white like it was when I was a child.

And I should shave my head.
But that look requires a person to be thin.

He’s a man, this conversation’s boring him,

like choosing lipstick colors.
No, my wife changes her hair color every month.

I have all these scars on my head, see?

My brother tipped my chair over when I was four.
I was wearing Little Mermaid panties and no top.
I hit my head and ended up in the Emergency Room.

I had all this white blond hair.

The blood gushed out and got tangled in it.

They chopped it all off in the ER.
My father scooped me up and took me there.
Later I was embarrassed that I was wearing only the Mermaid panties.

My name is Jenna, but I’ve been called Gina and at work there’s a Jennie.
I like Ginger. But I’d have to change my hair,

Highlights. You don’t have to keep them up so often.
But the problem with red is that it washes out.

Except for blood. That stays.

~Eileen Murphy~

*

Ass Splatter at the Beach

Breaking his skull

with a homemade machete—

the bloody spray of a crow

hitting

the windshield—

the mess all white

and clear and ready

for an acid bath

There stood death

in a t-shirt that said smile

on his back

as he turned

away

A lawnmower blade—

case hardened and sharpened

with a file, one end

wrapped in black cloth tape—

brought down perpendicular

to the hairline

will split that head open

like a melon, soft and wet,

its face gone pale

green

Once sand drinks it up,

the foaming waves

devour the sand,

pulling it back for the ghost crabs,

the worms, the minnows by the shore,

and anything else

that eats from

the sea

The head

and body go in,

slipping like down a hole,

as seagulls

scream

over the ocean

~Jeff Bagato~

*

Debugging the Popular Wisdom

Fall, lords, from the sky

for our amusement; earth’s ruling

families await you with stinger,

wing, mandible and claw—we see

you come down in soiled robes,

and there’s not much else to do

but laugh and carry on with the

wine, tumbling like a sack

of cats shifted near running

water—the pony express riding hard

to relay the good news—Ancient Critters

Behind Us—and jumping

to guitar shiver for the Now blossom

of time—time for maniacs to rave, time for

the kids to play ball in the streets

with nocturnal eyes like owls

slit completely through with fire;

and, riding over the mountains, time to look

down on Lake Tahoe for the sunrise

of a lifetime, pulling in just before breakfast,

just before antique insects rise to kitchen

fires and burn their crippled legs on a snifter

of gas, a weak blue flame reflecting

in slit eyes before dying

~Jeff Bagato~

*

7.

bats

~Mish~

THE LAUGHING MAN

I see a man

bent slightly forward

hands in face

as if he is putting on a mask

He sobs

the only way

a man who wears boots and cream shorts can

screams with misery

then he takes his hands from his face

he starts to laugh

and his face changes

then he looks at me

and laughs even louder

~Marc Carver~

*

5.

THE LODGER

I lost it yesterday

that demon

that is inside me

came out

it is like the cobra in the pot

all it needs is a flute playing

to bring it out

then when it does

it is like a nuclear explosion

I haven't seen him for a while

thought that

he may have moved house

and moved in with someone else

but oh no

he is still there.

~Marc Carver~

*

4.

The old trough where cows used to drink

~Mish~

*

3.

A.I.

As the singularity

of mankind’s existence

approaches an apex

and an Artificial Intelligence initiates

an all out unstoppable global

nuclear holocaust,

there will be some sexy chick with

large naked breasts on your

computer screen asking that

more money be sent to her

PayPal account in order to

continue this webcam session

while she simultaneously coerces

you to keep your other hand busy

like a dealer telling a coke head

to keep his or her nose on the line.

Without any hesitation that

is exactly what you did;

one hand on your dick

and the other on your credit card,

not caring about the reality

that the life you have been given

and thoroughly wasted

has become a nuclear hell

right outside your door

and the only thing you still care about

is finishing off the already shrinking

used and abused appendage in your hand

and just how much this night will cost you.

~Craig Firsdon~

*

Patient

I was a patient

After 911 was called.

Rushed into the ER,

Transferred off the stretcher.

I laid in this hospital bed

while my insides burned

my bones hurt and my body ached

IV and blood withdrawals

Just more and more pain

The same reason I came here.

I was a patient

Moved to ICCU

Later that night my mom left.

I wanted my mom

I wanted anyone

I was alone, so alone

And scared to be here.

Staring out of the window

all I saw was rooftop

and a helipad waiting for me to

escape this nightmare.

I was a patient.

It seems whenever you get admitted

Your room always has a view

of a roof or wall.

I think it’s some kind of rule of nature.

They want you to feel imprisoned.

My grandfather preferred being outside

Watching for his buddies, squirrels.

In the hospital he still watched for them

But instead it was from out of his window.

He waited for them to scurry by.

It was his escape.

This poem is my escape.

Instead of still watching out a window

I watch my screen as I write this poem

And I watch my notepad as

I draw my thoughts to page.

I am a patient,

but hopefully not for much longer.

Soon I will be outside again.

~Craig Firsdon~

~Chandra Alderman~

Happy funny disturbingly bright and dark spring from Thirteen Myna Birds!