Yellow Light Fighter, etc

Yellow Light Fighter

orange peel chewer,

cookie dough consumer,

nightmare slayer: you

will not be ambushed

by laugh track laughter

last-page-readers,

fingernail clippers.

push on, Yellow Light

Fighter, on through

the intersection glazed

with grass and glass

shards. you eye-roller,

Coke drinker, multiple lover,

radio warrior, your battle

against the sunlight

is relentless. slow not.

brake not: at night,

the lights flash gold

for their queen, the

weightlifter, know maker,

pencil crusher.

carry on, Yellow Light

Fighter. the road

will echo your laugh.

 

Flamingo God 

Every day Cassie dresses up

in a new animal costume

and she has been them all –

polar bears, alligators,

ostriches, baboons,

yellow-eyed owls

 

She made them all

in celebration, innocent worship.

 

On this particular day,

Cassie dons a flamingo costume

and she travels to the zoo with

her father and brother. “Cassie,”

her brother says, as they get into the car,

“I really like that turquoise shirt

dad got for you the other day.”

 

“Yeah,” she says.

 

“Wouldn’t this be a good day to wear it?”

 

“No, I want to wear my flamingo costume

and talk to the flamingos.”

She’s in the 3rd grade

but all they do is sigh.

 

Eventually they arrive at the zoo.

What, you ask,

do the flamingos

tell our pink-feathered protagonist?

 

“THE CREATOR IS COMING,” the lanky birds chant.

“FEW SHALL BE SPARED.”

 

“What do I need to do?” Cassie asks, wide-eyed.

 

“THE CREATOR IS COMING,” the flamingos chant.

 

“How do I save my family?” she persists.

 

“THE CREATOR IS COMING,” they squawk, again,

relentless.

‘BRING YOUR HUMANS

TO OUR LAIR

AS TRIBUTE.”

 

Soon enough,

pink feathers begin to fall

inexplicably

from the sky.

 

The zoo is evacuated. Human bodies

are vulnerable with no feather-suits.

Miraculously,

Cassie and her family remain safe

in the throes of giant pink bird-flesh,

all huddled together.

 

“I can’t believe this is how

I’m spending my Saturday,” moans Cassie’s brother.

 

As soon as they hear

a giant,

booming

squawk,

follow by a cacophony of human shrill –

they remain still.

They wait the pink storm out,

and it passes,

the feathers settle to the earth.

 

Cassies’s father

is the first to emerge.

 

“Never thought God would be a flamingo.”

 

Elliott Rodger’s Retribution 

is what he named it, like a tragic modern opera.

He sang his part and enunciated every word like

slut” and “slaughter” and “slay” and earlier,

that morning, he’d done his makeup. Brushed his hair.

Washed his face. Prepared himself for the camera.

All eyes on the killer – after the filming, he knew

we would flock to him like never before. Yes,

he thought, then they will see how beautiful I am.

(Father, he cried. Father.)

He handed her gold, and when she refused,

he cracked, morphed, writhed, like a crushed insect.

No face is more twisted than one tasting blood.

He saw her split forehead before he’d even

bought the gun. In fact, it was about the time

he started having such exhilarating fantasies –

women salivating over his genitals –

women dead – that he opened up his laptop

and saw there were others like him.

(Father. Daddy. Come play with me!)

Elliot Rodger watched the men on television,

for whom pretty blonde women are prize,

and pruned his feathers in preparation.

No one told him that God is not human.

Instead, they told him: You deserve it.

-Kaitlin Bonfiglio

Kaitlin is a senior at the University of Michigan majoring in English and International Studies. She is currently living in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Photo courtesy Bella I.

 

 

 

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