JS Breukelaar – 1 poem


Some Kind of Monster 

What if aliens stole my wife? 

A story finally to relate to
The instructors say
write what you know  but

the stuff they tell you
to write about.
I don’t know—

Talk about alien
					like

last week’s: 

what if a guy woke up one day
to discover
a surprising tattoo
behind his knee

what the hell, I pathed
to my buddy Stan

what the hell 

The last time I saw real ink
was on the left breast
of a Ceres 9 hooker called Perrysh
and trust me

that was not half as surprising
as what she did
with a dill pickle and ping-pong bat.
And Stan pathed back

haha ping pong bat.

You’re not meant to path
you can get in trouble
					You
sign an agreement not to
path
it’s unfair
on the instructors
they say

Unfair my ass  I say
Unfair is that Carrlson Ronn
wealthiest scribe
in Underworld
is
					in my apartment

sitting
at a hologrammatic desk
					and twinkling

his fake eyes at me
in my apartment  I say
like I'm a some horny co-ed.

And his watch twinkles
					look—

and sparkles
and a prism of light
escapes and floats
and I flinch
like it’s glass
but it’s not
just a piece of hologram
shard of Ronn

His image entire but from a different angle

hounded and haunted

Oh Class, forget the tattoo story,
Says Ronn:  think
What if aliens stole my life 				—I mean

my wife.
How does that sound?
Fifteen minutes starting now

The hologram breaking up
under the weight
of its own self-importance. 

Fifteen minutes, I pathed to Stan
Give me fifteen years—
					my name on the screen—

Lucas Hanes 10 Demerit points
Irvinowa Community College
Code of Conduct
Agreement Violation 21c:
The student agrees to refrain
At all times
From any form of psychic telepathy
(‘PATHING)  with other students.
Correspondence through
official channels
only
and must not contain any gratuitous...

Shit—

The most I could get now was a C
after losing 30 D-points for
pathing.
damn you Stan
					—not even a friend

not a real one
just someone I’d thrown in with
					online

damn Lia too and the last damn fifteen years
she
just had to go Terraside

I told her
					Baby, I said

What about the worms?
They’ll get you
sure as cheese is Chuck E.
And if the worms
don’t get you
The Martians will

sell you into human slavery

Liar, she screamed.
They belong here  this planet
was once theirs too— 

Yeah baby
we were all humans once
but my shit was once
Steak Diane.

That was so long ago
it doesn’t matter    Look
what they are
					—what?

they’ve evolved into
winged monsters
who wash down their
heavy metals
with a good dose of CO2
they
don’t want us up there,
darlin
What do you think we’re hiding
down here for?

Oh come with me Luke
Show me the sky
We’ll duck up 

					just once

bribe the guards
take a peep and pop
back down

Luke?

That’s all she wanted
It wasn’t much
Not much at all

But	 the sky?
I said like
some kind of jerk  

I’ll show you the sky
					I

flicked on the Sensodome
it rolled on out above us,
the November night
sharp as stone
hard as ice

You could feel the cold
					and the emptiness 

was real
an effect  pretty close to
the real thing
and there
the big dipper
					Venus

and there
the moon,

Eye of god

And I said
can you feel it
tears at the back of my eyeballs
pricking

It isn’t real, she said so softly
					What if it’s gone?

the real thing,
she said
so softly maybe she was just
thinking it

I held her off
for a while
a matter of months
took her to all the vacation spots
place of interest humanity
had built for itself

beneath the earth

Canyon Royale  and
Blackwater Transnational Park
New Venice
underground city of rivers
I ate up my savings and all
my vacation time plus
my entire portfolio
of Frequent Porter Points.
all gone

One night I woke up
to a cold draught that filled
the apartment
and spread 

with a liquid quicksilver
life across the bed 

The door was open  not the
Access Node but the front door
that door
unopened since the day we moved in
no one opened the front door

no need 

Everything came and went
the same way
					via Ethereal 5000

or through the Access Node
if you physically needed to 

					be 

somewhere.

No one opened
the front door 

there was only one way it lead and that was up

And no one went up
any more

But Lia did
					She 

went out the door
and started walking
actually walking
up and up
and didn’t stop
she got
to the dock
and stowed aboard
a ship bound
for the surface  I don’t
want to think
How she got through
She blew
her savings
to bribe the border patrol
or worse
I don’t want
to think about it.
What that did to her

And it did

But she survived—
					I know that much

because I follow
her on MyFace
She’s still beautiful
even after
what

the worms did
to her face
she lives
in one of those
					Megasperes

the Martians built for themselves
on the surface  		

waiting

for carbonic acids
to fill the air
enough at least
for them to breathe.

Won’t be long now
and it’ll be curtains
for us
humanity
devolving
into some kind of monster
					See

Lia?
she’s the one
with that big Martian fighter
He beat
Big Foot at the Globals
last year
He’s a big mother  wingspan
of twelve feet    more
the guy who stole my wife
my life.

My night

					What 

if he woke up
one day  to discover
a surprising tattoo
behind  his knee?

 

J.S. Breukelaar’s fiction and poetry has appeared in Fantasy Magazine, New Dead Families, Opium Magazine, Retort MagazineDogzplotLegumeMan Free Press, Le ZaparogueAntpodean Scifi, and others. Her story Lion Man is in the forthcoming anthology, Women Writing the Weird (Dog Horn Press, October 2011). Her collection of poetry and fiction, Ink, comes out in July 2011. She is a regular contributor toThe Nervous Breakdown. You can also find her at www.thelivingsuitcase.com.

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About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to gobbetmag@hotmail.co.uk Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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