I try to press the day into a wafer, pretending nothing happened, and we can waltz back into the old village we knew.
Reality stands in the way. Only bad choices remain, heavy as March snow, refusing to melt or drift away, no matter how long we keep chanting mantras.
John Szamosi is a wordsmith and peace activist. He’s been publishing short stories, satires and poems since his freshman year in college.
I half-watch the game, NFL wildcard, mostly commercials. My brother texts: Michelob. Yesterday’s argument lingers.
He arrives with the beer. We sit. Memories. A family thinned to two.
Once hungry, never full.
Once poor, always poor.
Next day he texts me again: Molson, mañana. I agree.
Beer. Brother. Good enough.
John Szamosi is a wordsmith and peace activist. He’s been publishing short stories, satires and poems since his freshman year in college.
Thick smoke wakes me in the middle of the night, the house is on fire. I run out, wearing only my robe. It’s five degrees below zero. Twin peril.
There’s an ocean of people outside. Same reality: burning house, murderous frost.
Let’s count us, how many are we?
Eight billion.
John Szamosi is a wordsmith and peace activist who has published over three hundred short stories, satires and poems in print and online magazines.
On his 104th birthday he has to ask his great-granddaughter to blow out the candle on the cake.
He says he has two wishes. One, Seabiscuit win the Kentucky Derby. Two, more for emotional than political reasons, FDR get re-elected.
If ever there was one good way to stay young…
John Szamosi is a wordsmith and peace activist who has published over one hundred short stories, satires and poems.
“Fly like eagle and run without tiring,” the chieftain promised her. He was also an ordained priest and owner of the grocery store in the village.
She came in to buy rice and corn oil but the shelves were picked clean. Not that it mattered; the dollar was worthless anyway.
John Szamosi is a wordsmith and peace activist who has published several short stories, satire, and poems in print and online magazines.
Driving through Yellowstone I see a blackbear at the roadside trying to teach her cubs to stand on their hind legs and beg for food. The kids aren’t paying attention; they’d prefer wrestling, climbing trees, digging up ground squirrels.
Interesting: the smart teacher is wrong, her unruly students are right.
John Szamosi is a wordsmith who publishes short stories, satire and occasionally poems.
When an epidemic or a war or a climate catastrophe or a large enough meteorite dispatches all of us, we’ll eventually be washed into the oceans. Dolphins and whales will gather to examine.
Highly intelligent animals, they will quickly conclude: Debris from dry land. Better steer clear. Could be toxic.
John Szamosi lives in the Pocono Mountains. He has published several short stories, essays and poems in print and online magazines.