I’m wearing my lucky pants. Everybody at the post office knows me. Yesterday, when I walking to the liquor store, I noticed somebody peeping through the blinds. I’ve been trying to trick myself into being invisible, but so far, no luck. For a while, I was thinking about running for office, but since the chainsaw accident, I’ve been rethinking my electability. Besides, I have my principles. Lucille says I’m one of her favorites, even if my stomach growls like an old washing machine. She’s such a cut-up. I told her the beauty of the beehive is its buzz. I’m my own noise. Too bad Lucille isn’t the marrying kind. She’s said no to me a million times. Tomorrow, I’m going to put on my desert camo, and take my dirt bike out to Dry Lake. I like it there because the light is clean and the sand looks like it’s asleep. I don’t mind if there’s no fishing. I never catch anything, anyway.
Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles and lives in Boston. He is the author of three collections of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing, 2015), de/tonations (Nixes Mate Press, 2020), and Momentary Turbulence (Cervena Barva Press, 2020). His fourth collection, WordinEdgeWise, is forthcoming in 2021 from Cervena Barva Press. Brad’s website is: www.bradrosepoetry.com.