At the Moonbeam Bar
Francine Witte
Tapas Winner

 

 

where you want to swallow the sky but settle for gin. In walks Cody, warning label like he’s a bottle of pills. Of course, pretty little Sandra will ignore this because of the pain in her heart.

She has put on a satin dress and her pumpiest pumps. Wished herself luck in the mirror, and tried to leave loneliness home fading into the dark like a kitty cat.

When Cody sees her, he flicks his blue eyes up and down her rabbit self. He wants to stop right there. Too easy a kill. But then he shrugs it off.

Walks over and winks himself a beer from Nell, the barmaid he’s saving for next. He takes pretty little Sandra’s pretty little hand.

If she were an old time typist, she might tap a key or two. “Help me,” it would say.

If she were an island castaway, she would  write it out in stones.

But no. He orders her another gin. It washes over her tongue and down her throat, like waves erasing a message written on shore, like letters fading slowly from a page.




First published: May 2018
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