By Jake Price
A flamboyance of flamingos eat shrimp out of the hands of a zookeeper. While the birds are distracted, someone else collects eggs. - The next day around breakfast time, the flamingos get their weekly wing clipping so they can’t fly away. Pink yolks sizzle in a frying pan and get flipped sunny side up onto a plate
still life of divorce
the flies that loiter on the brim, i wave, they come again, i wave again. you left the pears to rot and now the apples bruise when you so much as look in their direction. dead oranges squish and sour and the decaying grapes deflate, defeated goop. i hate the wedding band you ditched inside the fruit bowl. diamond dipped in mold i know its meaningless. i hate the painting hung above the kitchen sink gold frame peppered with dust. i know its meaningless.
You proposed and I said no
the sound of silence and silverware talking to each other from across the table by scraping against plates “they’ve been arguing a while” said the steak knife as it goes back and forth between the fork to the empty wine glass “our big happy family” the spoon scutts against teeth “so much for the anniversary” the napkin says as it gets wiped over a frown
clementines and tangerines sitting in a lime green bowl on the counter. blood oranges and nectarines stacked on grapefruits and lemons a sticky kitchen knife stabbed standing in a cutting board i kiss the juice off your face - your memory is gone by morning discarded peels get tossed in the trashcan and throw the bruised and mushy citrus outside for the birds the dishes are placed in the sink pieces of fruit and seeds go down the drain i switch on the garbage disposal
Shivering on a curb
A faulty smoke alarm still sounds like fire, still rouses screaming kids up out of bed, their parents running out into the cold, a family standing in their underwear. - Still notifies the fire department of a house engulfed in flames that don’t exist, sirens echo throughout the city blocks, the red lights flashing down empty dim streets. - Still rings and rings and rings and rings and rings until a fireman goes inside the house and bravely sacrifices five minutes then shuts the door behind him in silence.
My cuticles bleed over a keyboard, blood looks black in blue light. Bruised eyebags stare back at me when screens blank and shut down. I press the power button on a dead laptop. I see pixels in the dark. I close the lid of a dead laptop. I see pixels in the dark.
Shattered flower pots, dirt on the countertops again. Ceramic broke into several pieces, into shards that poke hands and the sharp thorns and petals and parts of leaves Are brushed onto the floor And swept up with a broom made of straw.
A plumber’s marriage
our broken bathroom sink floods – we argue till dawn rusting pipes break down and weep – you say you feel drained water pools on the flooring – we go back and forth until your eyes leak tears – that I can’t fix with a wrench
I’ve seen sunflowers turn their heads to look at you smile and I’ve seen roses stretch themselves just tall enough to touch your nose when you bend to smell them. I’ve heard black-eyed-susans whisper sweet things as you walk by and I’ve heard the orchids braided in your hair say they no longer need water, they just need you. You hold my hand and I realize I just need you.
the Glassblower makes a vase then a jar he goes home to see his wife - the Glassblower wakes up and makes miracles out of melted grains of sand and sings George Strait on his drives home - the Glassblower makes a sculpture then an ashtray he smokes a cigarette and flicks its ashes into his creation
Jake Price has been published in Rivercraft Magazine and Right-Hand Pointing Poetry. He is a sophomore student at Susquehanna University and am pursuing a degree in creative writing