2 by Reba Beauchamp

When Mickey fucks Minnie must he try hard / searching for an opening in all her skin like black / taffeta, all her drawn-on & filled-in, / does he mistake her yonic mouth for the opening / he wants because it is her only visible hole. / Does he think her tongue like mink, / her eyelashes like flicks of pulp tethered / to two overwhite eggs, her tee-hee-hee unsure / and beautiful because. / Her timid cartoonish / laugh a rope of ink & feather. Does Mickey get hard.
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“Christ has no body on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours.”
~St. Therese of Avila

Two nights before he pissed off Givins Design’s most valued client, Parrot Weathers discovered how his snow figures kept being destroyed. Twice he’d helped the kids in Prairie Crossings build them. And twice, the figures were torn apart.

When I die, I said,
I want you to dump my ashes in that skip behind Lidl
Then go inside, buy the cheapest wine and drink it in the street
While the good mothers take their kids to school.

OK, she said.
We were at the table and drinking beer.
I’d been drinking most of it.

Johnny, who hated vertical lines, refused to be blind. We wanted him to try it out, just to see what would happen, but we weren’t sure if he would get his sight back once he let it go. We promised we’d keep track of it: make sure it didn’t go anywhere, but you know—that’s a lot of trust to place in anyone, and it’s not like we’d been entirely trustworthy in the past. We wanted to be the perfect friends for Johnny. But mostly we just wanted Johnny to be blind.

To build, building built

A heart that snaps arrows,

Honey it’s a tool of evolution.

These love-pacts leave residue

There appears in the annals of military legend an event of such great significance and universal moment as to warrant re-telling at any conclave of professional soldiers eager to know the experiences of other warriors faced with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle.