‘An American Fairy Tale’, ‘Whether Patterns’, ‘How to Diagnose Peripheral Neuropathy When You’ve Run Out of Backyards’, ‘Lorraine’, & ‘I Think We Can All Agree That Puppy Mills Are a Bad Idea’.

Photographer - Tobi Brun

An American Fairy Tale

Gone Girl has come undone in a true-life abduction &
rape scheme gone awry that was commandeered by
an otherwise noble Silverware Salesman in dark jeans &
a ski mask who, it was determined by the authorities (only
after all was said & done), acted alone & with reckless
haste, leaving behind evidence pretty much everywhere,
ultimately leading to understandable speculation that,
perhaps, he was hoping to be caught which, in fact,
he was, but only eventually and, believe it or not,
accidentally via an interview at Costco with
The Clueless Stepmother, following a long period of time –
indeed ten months – in which Gone Girl & The Boyfriend
were unjustifiably bludgeoned in the loop-de-loop media
by law enforcement & The Public because, of course,
The Public always seems to jump to conclusions on
the bandwagon of group-think righteous indignation &
moral superiority all over social media, a self-reinforcing
death spiral of truth destruction if there ever was one which,
in this particular case, resulted, through reliable &
predictable polling, in the unfortunate couple being
unceremoniously deposited into The Enshittocene –
through no fault of, or effort on, their own, everything
in existence having been gobbled up by it – where they
got married & are raising two kids on the beach, a boy &
a girl, & where, like all the rest of us in America, they
are just trying to live happily ever after, good luck with that.

Whether Patterns

I can’t help but wonder
whether what is left of me
will be enough for you

as the days pile up one
on top of the other, like an
unbound manuscript consisting

of blank leaves of unread
poetry left carelessly near
an open window in summer,

caught by a sudden breeze &
scattered throughout the rooms
of the house, floating down

the bottomless stairwell
of our lives out onto the
main thoroughfare that runs

east to west &
back again in the ancient
City of the Cloud Queen.

How to Diagnose Peripheral Neuropathy When You’ve Run Out of Backyards

Two years ago today I forgot to remember how to
walk. That’s a First World problem said my friend.
But I live in the Global South! No First World
problems here. Well he said it’s ... complicated.

The llamas near the ruins stomped on the ground.
I will never be able to do that again I thought.
Feeling sorry for myself, I shed a tear or two
because I knew no one else would. The tests and

biopsies proved inconclusive. I blamed it on an
interference of clouds and my failure to file taxes
while living abroad. My friend readily agreed,
equating it all to a sort of cosmic shadow band

phenomenon that is often created during a total
solar eclipse, except in your case the IRS is solely
responsible he said. With him, I felt like I had at
least one person on my side. That I wasn’t crazy.

I know what happened to the third tower. I did
the research, back when I could remember how
to walk. When the silent fireflies in September
filled our backyards with the faint glow of hope.

Lorraine

One fine spring morning
clean-shaven hard-working
Dudley tentatively
approaches me
beneath the sign for
the Lorraine Motel
with a familiar tale
of family hardship
looking for a hand-out
in our 21st-century
cashless society
when there arises
a ripe teachable moment
in which I ask him
where should I Venmo
my assistance mi buen amigo?

I Think We Can All Agree That Puppy Mills Are a Bad Idea

& I don’t even know that much about them.
I’m not a dog person either (or at least I don’t
think of myself as a dog person since I only
officially had a dog as a pet for less than a week

in my entire life), nor really a cat person or even
a pet person if such a thing actually exists (which
I’m sure it does in some odd Facebook group kind
of way I don’t know about & never will). Although I

did keep a fish named Brad in a glass bowl for about
18 months, once. I fed him the flakes every day &
cleaned his tiny home every other week & he
seemed as happy a creature as could be expected

for one who hangs out 24/7 in a small transparent
container for the whole world to see. No privacy
(that’s why they call it a fishbowl, I guess), nowhere
to go except in a circular infinity of what I often

thought of as some kind of aquatic purgatory, &
then of course he was, in the end, flushed down
the commode, replaced in his bowl by a plant that
promptly died as well. So, when the nice young man

with the trim beard from the humane society gently
accosted me outside Walgreen’s this afternoon, I
signed that petition to ban puppy mills as quickly
as I could without ever once making eye contact.

M. F. Drummy holds a PhD in historical theology from Fordham University. The author of numerous articles, essays, poems, reviews, and a monograph on religion and ecology, his work has appeared, or will appear, in Allium, [Alternate Route], Anti-Heroin Chic, Ars Sententia, Deal Jam, Emerge, FERAL, Green Silk, Main Street Rag, Marbled Sigh, Meetinghouse, Poemeleon, Rituals, Scarlet Dragonfly, Winged Penny Review, and many others. He and his way cool life partner of over 20 years enjoy splitting their time between the Colorado Rockies and the rest of the planet. He can be found at: Instagram @miguelito.drummalino Website https://bespoke-poet.com