Mel Finishes the Week

His week at the coin-operated laundromat finally over, Mel wished for nothing more, after a meal of mac & cheese, than a night of uninterrupted sleep.

So, now in REM sleep, he was able to dream, to put his Uncle's laundromat behind him.

To recover.

But what the...

It was his Uncle Leo, bursting into Mel's dream of sleeping on laundry. There’s something pleasant about lying on towels and underwear at your work.

“I don't pay you to sleep. Take this mop, Mel.”

All that night he spent mopping.

Mopping and mopping linoleum until the morning, when he awoke exhausted.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Hermitage

Harvest missed, starlings busy with unworked seed, overripe corn, a laugh with the scarecrow - leave toward evening. Leaves of fall turn red like the blood fingering across the green linoleum kitchen floor after the thud of the back of your head, split like a too-ripe pumpkin. A widower falls in the kitchen, no one hears it, did it make a sound? The trees in the yard mourn the wood you stacked anticipating winter, as it dries, rots, quietly decays. Equinoxes later it splinters, skips off across tan, fallow fields in a cold wind, wet with the rustle of black wings.

From Guest Contributor Craig Kirchner

Craig thinks of poetry as hobo art. He loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus is being published and has work forthcoming in a dozen or so journals.

Heater

"Would you like another heater, Ralph?"

Madge, the waitress, offered to add some hot coffee to Ralph's half-empty cup on the diner's linoleum counter. Behind her, racked, were the assorted pies, the lemon meringue with only two slices left.

"I'll take some." Ralph half-smiled. "I guess that's like you, Madge."

"What'd you mean?

"You like your coffee hot, and your men hotter."

Bracing herself on the counter, Madge stared at him. Would Al leave anything more than a 10% tip? What were the chances?

"I guess we're a little different. You go for the lukewarm guys, don't you, Al?"

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Tiny Carrots

Baby Joey watched the spectacle from safely beneath the kitchen table. His parents were measuring the brisance of hurled kitchen items and all he could think about were the two tiny carrots prominently displayed on the battlefield linoleum.

To get to them, he would have to crawl into the crossfire. The dishware made the loudest noise. The cutlery, especially the cleaver, certainly seemed the most dangerous.

But overall, from Baby Joey's way of looking at things, the eggs and tomatoes were the most enjoyable to watch explode.

With all the distractions, he soon forgot about the tiny carrots. Stupid baby.