Out of Control


Image: Pixabay

He banged her up bad
She’s almost six feet under
He climbs out the ditch

Sobered up quickly
He misses her suddenly
She made him feel good

Remorse sets in him
He yells up to the heavens,
“I loved my Corvette.”

Tuesday Ten

the number 10

Ten is a bad omen today–the 10th Tuesday of May, when Talia took $10,000 from Ten-Cent Bank at exactly 10:00 AM, so she could throw a 10-year anniversary bash for herself. Instead, Talia got caught and spent 10 hours being detained at the local authorities’ HQ. Her fate is sealed. She is committed to doing 10 months of community service and paying a $10,000 fine plus 10% penalty fees, which she needs to pay within the next 10 months. She has to borrow money to pay for her fine, so she asks her brother, who then goes to Ten-Cent Bank to take out a $10,000 loan. Now he is charging Talia 10% interest. Talia decides to go to the local liquor store to get all the booze she can get—likely not much—for her last $10.

Sad Sack

baby, come back
Rudy relentlessly pursues Trudy. The Snapchats and texts he’s sent to her are all for naught. Never opened, they’re not enough for his prior rebuff. Trudy once was true just for him, but he turned her away for seemingly better scenes. After seeing no one’s fairer or better, sad sack Rudy realizes his lack. But Trudy is now watching another one’s back.

Snow Plea

©2016 Karina Pinella

O Blizzard Wizard, direct your gusts upon Siberia.
Get thee to the Rocky Mountains, to the peaks of Mt. Everest.
Go where the altitude is high and the population low.

Our backs are weary from shoveling
And our knuckles white from keeping the car from skating.
Donuts are for eating,
Crazy eights for card playing,

Enough with these demonstrations of near demolitions.
No-fault insurance claims don’t  stop the finger-pointing
Nor do they keep premiums from rising.

Cease the snow,
Hold your breath,
Just go!

In Memory of David Bowie 1/8/47-1/10/16

By Photobra|Adam Bielawski (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

By Photobra|Adam Bielawski (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

 [Prose composed of David Bowie’s songs.]

Ashes to Ashes, my Heroes, Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust, and Halloween Jack, will no longer be Dancing in the Street. The Man Who Sold the World deserves more Golden Years. I want to Scream Like a Baby. I feel like a Panic in Detroit Without You, Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud. You who defended China Girl and built a Suffragette City with Diamond Dogs Looking for Water. I’m Deranged, Little Wonder. Let’s Dance to Fame and the Young Americans. I can Rebel Rebel all I want but you won’t rise like Lazarus. I will have to make Changes. I shall not lean on the Weeping Wall and wallow in Sorrow. From Across the Universe, can you see if there is Life on Mars? Can You Hear Me? You’ll make a great New Killer Star, the Prettiest Star. I shall Move On to look for another Modern Love.