A Sensitive Bird 55

"Crikey, Mate!" the parrot said. "Crikey!"

"Where'd you get that parrot anyway?" he asked her.

"Crikey, Mate! Crikey!"

"Grandpa brought him back from Down Under," she sighed. "I sure miss Grandpa."

"Crikey!"

"Well, it's been fun, but I couldn't take that every night. See you round."

"Oh. Okay."

...

"Good parrot," she said, once he'd gone.

55

Elbow Sex 55

Middle seat on the airplane.

Politely, he kept his arms off of both armrests.

And yet ... 

Her elbow, old and pale, settled lightly against the flesh just above his own.

Rested there gently.

Shifted occasionally.

Made him wonder what she looked like

naked, this aging

but not yet ancient,

woman.

Middle seats are so dangerous.

55

I Should Stop Sitting Around On My Ass Moping 55

This 55 is the third 55 that I've tried to write tonight.

This 55 is the first 55 that's light on contrived insight.

This 55 doesn't make me desire a knife right through my brain.

This 55 doesn't make me inclined to jump out in front of a train.

This 55 ... what can it ignite?

55

Trivett Wingo 55

Sticks on skins

the hammer pulse of the soul

crashing hoofbeats a signal

of horsemen approaching

ratcheting backblasts

from an

infernal cannonry

impacts

of mountaintops

streaking down from the sky

rattling your chest

your ears

your teeth

your guts

cataclysmic

explosive

clattering

battering

shattering reason to shards

that scatter on wind

a krakatoa

of

rock

55

Star Trek 55

If you don't love Star Trek, go see Star Trek.

If you do love Star Trek, go see Star Trek.

If you hate Star Trek, well, you probably shouldn't go see Star Trek.

Music: Terrific

McCoy: Amazing

Effects: Spectacular

Dialogue: Clever

Nit-Picks: Way too many to count, but what the hell . . . it's Star Trek.

55

Pure Awesomeness

I wonder how many times Christopher Guest, Michael McKean and Rob Reiner watched this video.

On Mortal Insects 55

Dead yellowjacket on the playground, wings moving in the wind. Danger laid low by the hand of time or nature, now become the object of childish dares. Will the poke of a stick rouse it? Do they risk its sting, scattering pebbles across that still, banded form?

Or is their boldness only a delicious pretense?

55