Author: Kyle Edwards

SHAWL wrapped tightly against the wind as I
WRITE my apology for yesterday’s words
ALONG the river not far from here where the
DEMON on my shoulder won the argument.

STEAM ships barrel in and out,
SALTY air, crying gulls matching the capitalist energy.
SLOOP more leisurely embarks.
TRUSS the rigging, sea’s bouncing today.

(I have no idea if “truss the rigging” makes any nautical sense)

LIBEL case involving star
CABLE news reporter
WREAKs havoc on the entire
SCOPE of their viewing demographic.

BASTE an entire turkey while my
QUERY with customer service falls behind the
SNAIL on its way somewhere conclusive, Augustine’s
PEARS less tempting than rage for still being on hold.

FILET mignon for my birthday sits
DULLY on my plate, uneaten as an
IRATE customer nearby rages about service and
NOSEY spectators pull out their phones to record.

(Forgot to post when I wrote this a number of days ago.)

AMISS from my usual fare, this
SHOWY table is a gastronomical
LURCH into new possibilities of
SAUCY entrees with French names.

SCAREs me how, looking back at it, that
RIGHT from the start, with our without preparedness, this
IRATE baby is my absolute responsibility, flying in the
ORBIT of my every thought and action.

GAUNT, arthritic man speaking in the
SLANG of his youth can’t
ROUSE himself beyond nostalgia,
UNITEd in shared slavery to time, unthinkable.

AMAZEment spread across his face.
BINGO! he said to himself, the
MUMMY perfectly preserved and … that’s
WEIRD, did its finger just twitch?

BRIDE delighted to now have a
TILDE in her new last name.
LOWER expectations once never imagined she’d
REVEL every time she hears “Mrs. Nuñez.”