Short Fiction

"I am half sick of saddos," said the lady lollipop
In Mercedes that don't stop
and jaywalkers
and crooked parkers
and shouldered boom-box fops

"I am half sick of Nettos," said the lady of the shop
Scandinavian for dead-end job
and bargains
and profit margins
and tuneless doppelganger pop

"I am half sick of shallows," said the lifeguard up aloft
plasters getting lost
and tombstoning
and dive-bombing
and hairy-backed beer-belly flops

"I am half sick of pathos," said the Lady Malaprop
much too foreign, much too hot
and Kalamari
and uncle Harry
next year we'll go to Kos