Mean as cancer when no one is looking
Smile, smile, smile otherwise
He walks the dog to feel anything
His unkindness pounds in her head as people look
Neighborhood trash receptors are emptied for the week
The dog poops twice on the walk
He carries both home; people are looking
TPA is currently living her literary dream of creating flash fiction from home in Atlanta, Georgia, where she studied writing at Oglethorpe University.
Roy shifts the heavy workbench, studies the contours in the blanket of dust beneath. Pencils, nutshells. And glasses: thick, over-sized, cracked. Alan.
A breath, a quick polish, and his reflection blinks back at him. It’s changed since he last saw it in those lenses, moments before they hit the floor.
Richard Day Gore
followed his passion for several arts from Virginia to Manhattan, where he worked as Senior Editor of a publishing house specializing in medical anthologies. The experience left him with Chronic Adjective Deprivation Syndrome, the treatment for which is writing fiction. He’s permanently recuperating in Southern California, where he also paints and writes music.