Mirror Northwest

It’s true they shun you just because of cheese-poof fuzz—
The residue, loved by ants—you know, you could put on some pants.
Red eyes, red eyes, sore thumbs, sore thumbs.

All your money spent, behind on the rent.
Boss has given you the shaft (he never understood the craft).
Red eyes, red eyes, sore thumbs, sore thumbs.

What’s your passion? Pixels 3D digital cell shading glory—
8-bit 32-bit no-bit? Bad habit, good habit—who cares?
Summer video-gaming.

“Ya know heroes also need full-time jobs, ya bum, ya slob!”
Your mother hollers down the stairs—the stink of “game over” in the air.
Red eyes, red eyes, sore thumbs, sore thumbs.
Lifelong video gamer.

jane austen creates general chaos

1
Every last heater caught fire. Two hundred houses burned like napalm in the still of the night—ice crystals catching, and holding, the reflections like eyelashes holding tears. The Doosniffs stood trembling in the middle of their street. Their house was the only one standing.

2
“It’s damn cold in here.”
“In Texas, even! Who knew?” Mrs. Doosniff chuckled over her knitting.
“Is the heater out?”
“Call a repair man.”
“We have a ten year warranty!”
That year the Doosniffs went without heat.

3
“Dear Mrs. Ms. Jane Austen,
I am your biggast fan.”
He crossed it all out and rewrote: “May I sher a werd with you?” He crumpled up the letter. He was out of paper.
After rifling through the Clutter-Drawer, young, unfortunately named Jane Doosniff pulled out a folded parchment. It was a heater warranty—but the back was empty at least.

4
They decided to name their first child Jane. And, as luck would not have it, that child turned out to be quite male.
“Should we name him Austen? Austin? That still works.”
“Austin is a nice town. Let’s move to Austin.”

5
They were married in January—they were “free spirits.” Snow whirled around their feet, hands, eyes—collected on her mascara and melted on her Cover Girl Rouge Raisin.
He wore a suit of Chinese silk—it was warm in January.
They kissed lightly then ran off—hand in hand—drunk on youthful vigor. Her slip was showing.

6
Their eyes met over Pride & Prejudice—he on one side of the bookshelf and she on the other. She nudged the book towards him.
“Were you going to check this out?” She asked in a low, husky voice.
“No, I work here.” He replied in a lower, huskier voice.
“Meet for coffee?”
“I don’t do coffee. Meet for tea?”
“I can do tea.”

Bipolar in Love

Today we watched DNA tests on cable,
Where already trashy people misuse their biological function
and prove themselves to be total swine.
It always throws them through a loop—
Daddy number 5—the missing link?
It’s so terrible and so delicious.

You did not find this circus delicious.
You threatened to pull out the cable
and you cried aloud that there was a link
between this filth and the fact my bladder doesn’t always function
correctly while squatted over the porcelain loop,
and that I was turning into swine.

I shrieked out, “NO. YOU, SIR, ARE THE SWINE.
AND I FIND MAURY POVICH DELICIOUS.”
It was like flinging a large dog through a small loop.
I clutched my television, weeping at the imminent loss of my cable,
and the imminent demise of our love—which had ceased to function.
You moaned that you would never pull the link.

I dripped that if you did, you might as well link
me to a fence to be devoured by porcine swine.
You cooed and reminded me we were due at a charity function,
where the culinary dishes would prove delicious.
We didn’t have a ride, so we journeyed on the cable
cars—where my inner-ear disorder kept my stomach in a loop.

Around the dance floor we swirled and looped.
At the gay gala I learned the link
between watching DNA tests on cable
and what “High Society” calls “swine.”
The pompous asses and the braying jerks were delicious
bits of arsenic that went down easily—as one whose bladder does properly function.

After the “charity function”
we walked at midnight on the park loop.
You said I smelled delicious,
and you reached down and my hand you did link.
We apologized for our dual vindictive cries of “swine!”
and we listened to the music of the electricity popping along its cable.

“Link my arm or I’ll surely cease to function, my little
swine, my love. You truly send my heart to loop. Let’s go home.
Cable TV has a most delicious sitcom lineup tonight.

Jillian Danley hopes to be famous and practices her autograph signing whenever possible. Aside from writing, she enjoys olives, Futurama, reading, and video games. She likes Queen too much, and can often be found singing and air-guitaring to Bohemian Rhapsody. GALILEO FIGARO. She’s transferring to The Evergreen State College and will one day change the world.