Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-one Spring 2013 |
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The Happiness Bottle Kristine Ong Muslim Little illusion, little stench of hope what were you like before you came here? One squirt from your retractable neck and our vision swims out of focus, our daydreams distend landlocked. We are suddenly and inexplicably happy. For years, we secretly used you on our broken daughters who pretended to eat their vegetables, on our dead sons who, night after night, hammered boat planks into roller coasters. On days when we knew for sure that we were ready to die, we hide you inside our pockets, drive to the park or the breakwater facing the sea at low tide. One squirt from your retractable neck and we float, red balloons of desperation, laughing, laughing away from here. |
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