Summer Splash Supplement 2010
I've started to stutter when I text message, but don't mind me. But do do don't mind me. It's just a slip of the thumb. Whoops. How Freudian! Remember that? People used to say more than they meant, not less. LOL. Laugh out loud, for God's sake! Let me hear it! Rattle my nerves with your booming voice, vibrate my soul u goddamn Homo sapien sapien! “How can you even be calling me names at a time like this? What with all the sexting and the socialized healthcare?” she says, and means it.
The walking undead are at it again,
and shit, now we have to stick together.
But Dad can hardly walk at a decent pace,
let alone run, and whenever we've made up some ground
on the brain-sucking hoards, it's always time for a cigarette break.
Sister bemoans these occurrences, less out of anxiety or self-preservation
than deep-rooted anger, because if fucking zombies
can't even get him
to quit, he must not care about the family, or love her enough
to hear her carefully laid-out arguments. She feels powerless,
but I think that has more to do with her limited skills
wielding an axe. Mom's the one we should really worry about, though,
because she won't shut up. I swear, she nearly tripped once
(nearly) and if her squeal wasn't bad enough,
later she wanted to tell everybody about the
“close call” she had. Yes, Mom. I was there, Mom.
Brother rolls his eyes, as he kicks the door in,
because like it or not, he knows we've got to hole up
in this dump together, at least for the night. But I'm afraid
Mom doesn't think it's a dump, and is actually coveting
some of the uglier furnishings. That's her problem:
she doesn't ever know what she wants, but is always convincing herself
otherwise. That must run in the family,
because Sister is huddled in the corner, sopping wet
with rain and perspiration and blood, rationalizing
some of the more gruesome things we've seen
and done—or is it because of the things we haven't seen
and haven't done, like admit defeat and go our separate ways?
Brother sits quietly, revolver in hand, and Dad pulls out a cigarette,
and I think about asking him if it'd be okay if I had one,
but it looks like he's only got a couple left,
so I keep the thought to myself.
Ben Riggs received his BA in Media Arts from the University of New Mexico. He currently teaches Biology and Chemistry at a local high school in Albuquerque, New Mexico.