Alyssa Trivett
Vacation DayI play Twister out of bed,
machine cord wrapped in sheets. Having electric dreams of sly neighbor cutting the lawn at five forty five on a Saturday morning. I trot into the shower, and washing machine cycle myself only to glide on Swiffer. I'm the custodian, after hours with headphones bigger than crooked halo hat I slamdance with the mop as I flame-throw dust and start an afternoon band with pots and pans railroad clinging as I switch gears and change magician hands. Bang my head into the mailbox, and flop around the grocery store like a dead fish playing slingshot boomerang with a volleyball net, in sweated out trucker hat cement. Days crank on. And then I think of all the sewing pattern people I know, borrowed laughs from and stitched into my coat. Only to hang around in coffee shops and shoot straw wrappers at my worthless stanzas. Rejection LetterBegin with a cordial greeting.
Name the victim, peacefully. Call it out. Only once. Yodel across the margins. Ease in the word decline. Like a broken leg skiing on a broken slope. Suddenly. Leave it out of the letter. Simply include it for the Submittable form. Put forth your appreciation for the now, nameless. Writer. Poet. Thinker. Doer. Submitter. Keep it to a few sentences. Don’t overthink the obvious. Sum it up briefly. We appreciate you taking your time. We wish you success. Best of luck in placing your work elsewhere. Don't sugarcoat, or over-butter it. Keep it together. Peacefully end it. Be generic. Email template. With regards. Wishing you the best. Drop a name or two if you wish. Let it flow. Like an endless river. Then build the dam. The Waiting Room ConundrumThe Smiths told the weather forecast, with
messages of divorce lawyers and easy-made meals mixed in. My eyes flooded with bright patterns of chivalry, ten year warranty, no money down. Operators are standing by twirling a baton of their headset, spinning in the chairs, and next commercial blazes our heartstrings up a notch. Dancing puppets at the amphitheater clips roll with wipes and dissolves like dirt filing off the dustpan into the plastic stomach. A lanky gentleman stands up, masters the shirt-hand opening door technique sits down, accompanied by headphone bliss, same as me. Salted peanut wrappers and Styrofoam cups of hour-old coffee, our best friend, silently sitting. An old lady glares, asks “Are you watching this?” I shrug it off, reluctant to respond, only muttering “No- background noise.” I want to furiously plant banners and change names of talk shows- An Awesome Hour of Extraordinary Circumstance. The coffeemaker howls again, can’t catch a break. The repeated jabbing finger motion of when a vending machine doesn’t live it up its name. I’ll be here at my office-for-the-day station, tapping my foot, and sliding my pen across satin colored paper sheets. Rattling OnYou, the mentor
guide me up the center. Myself, young guppy, messenger hat. Coffee cup trigger arm, accessory cemented to me. Highways and lanes pass over me. Cars under bridges. Odd-patterned floor tiles attach to my feet. I pass through doorframes, unbeknownst to anyone. Simply existing. An unused maze at the back of a coloring book. A bonus round, unknown. A doorbell, hanging with my commas to margins. I have no compass, nor appendix; a pen on the ear, my coin. Coffee cup. Dents in paper from sorting. I rattled on. Faster than java entering porcelain. Thank you, for your trust, and for the hour of comic bubbles, non-stop. Over and above everything. |
Fifth And a Half WheelBlankets and throws
loud music from the other room ringtones on smartphones and cool shoes. Adding quotations and keeping coffee bags for the lingering scent in the kitchen. Leave the back door open. Faucets drip with a symphony of their own, heat of the night swelters even the birds, at this ungodly hour. Trees cover cars, painting them yellows, reds, and autumn fuzz. We left keys under mats; only moss outlines left. In passing conversation; keeping occupied, standing, staring at the ceiling. And garden gnomes stare. Your WiresA staircase waits to be stepped on,
skeleton keys linger to doors which won’t open and moss outlines present themselves, newly-found under the welcome mat. I’m haunted by the likeliness; your movements swaying with the curtains, and rings from coffee cups never present. A storm passes overhead and crooked fence post eyes follow us on the horizon. Drag your fingernails through the night swat them down like an astronaut, free-floating. For every sentence that resists there is always a coin on your ear, the dryness of your fingertips, resting on some mantle, waiting for a picture never to be taken. I’ll trip on your wires, mend them together without my sewing needle, stich ‘em up, and drink from the thimble And hope that sooner or later, on some other plane, another diagonal, we’ll see each other again. The JamsHang around the coffee shop.
Pawn change off cigarette smokers. View all the value menu options. Remember when music channels played videos? Old Navy commercials featured the jams; khakis even mannequins were afraid to wear. Skeletons hobble for the exit. The matchbox was used, number twenty. Skaters knees scraped easily, kids played outside. We are sinking. Carrying our stuffed animals to the movies, voting for people we wouldn’t be caught sitting next to at lunch. Etching our initials into the desk with dull pencils. Pushing our Trapper Keepers across the bottom of the well; Gumby & Pokey movements. Claymation me; when our eyes did not watch the hours on the clock spin away in eight hour figure-eights. I’ll keep my shirt with shoulder pads. Pull the sheet off of it. Those years fading quicker than cap guns exploding. Who cut the cheese? If you’re da bomb, remove the air from the Sun Chips bag. Nothing is free. Not even hugs. Big sunglasses and stale thoughts. Even the irony of rain on our wedding day is now a dream. Someone beam me up green slime for the trip game show host personality and comic bubbles to keep me away from current entanglements.
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