As is My Custom

AS IS MY CUSTOM Susan Snyder Last night, as I lay in bed, tucked in much too tightly as is my mother’s custom, I heard the trap snap shut, the unoiled hinge of the door, it waits for me. Heating the thermometer on the bulb in my little lamp, and I am allowed to stay in bed. She’s leaving for work. Now I’ll have some time. I listen as the front door snaps shut, the unoiled hinge of the door, and I bounce up. It was waiting for me, wide-eyed,…

The Red Boy

He comes into the kitchen where I’m cooking dinner. “Mommy,” he says. “What?” I answer, distracted. “There’s a red boy walking in my room.” I glance at him. “A red boy?” He nods. “He walks like this.” He presses his chubby arms tightly against his small body and cocks his head to the side. He takes a few jerky, shuffling steps. _____________________ He carries an armload of plastic dinosaurs into the living room and dumps them on the floor. “Why aren’t you playing in your room?” I ask. I’m folding…

Cannibalism: A Robot Anachronism

Cannibalism: A Robot Anachronism I eat the parts of the robot dissections that can’t be reused, won’t be refurbished; I build myself anew, a straggler, a vagabond, I scour the hazmat tents and contamination labs, sort through the biohazard bags and junkyard waste for in these carcasses is mechanism, instrument: a fresh start, a chance to reinvent and resurface amongst the others. Just a pinch of technology, a dash of warfare… Give me its metal gears, its stray wheels, and broken cogs, the scarps of aluminum that cut my gums…