by JEFFREY HERMANN
The mayor doesn’t live in the mayor’s mansion. I think because it’s too close to the river which is loud and full of waste. Statistically, it always contains a corpse or two, which are not waste. They are people and deserve better. They deserve a clear sky. They deserve a big house and someone to bring them a meal at the ring of a bell. Their loved ones are banging on pots and pans trying to call them home. They will not wake up. They are floating and dreaming of their breakfast.
Rainwater is becoming river water all day long and I like this new way I have of living. No one is in charge of trash pickup or vehicle stops. There are fewer rules to follow every day. I think the mayor lives uptown but they don’t call it the mayor’s uptown house.
Don’t think about the bodies. Now that the pavement’s as clean as it can get go buy a magazine or bring something new into the world. Create a better container for the immortal soul. A fresh approach to crying for help. A more reliable floatation device, something we can honestly point to and say, “life raft.”
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JEFFREY HERMANN poetry and prose has appeared in Hobart, Rejection Lit, UCity Review, trampset, JMWW, and other publications. Though less publicized, he finds his work as a father and husband to be rewarding beyond measure.
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REVOLUTION JOHN 