Literary Orphans

Three Poems by Jodi Adamson

DISEASE STATE

a feather a spindly feather

caressing indentions of feet

tracing whorls of wriggling worms

upon sensitive flesh

turning a tickle into a tiny itch

escalating into irritation

stop the tormentor

sure rapid strokes of fingers

scratch blissfully

until done

 

a feather a silky feather

gliding against bones

creating unseen hieroglyphics and mysterious pictograms

underneath the surface

metamorphosis of irritating itch to the

All-Consuming

can’t reach

bones are not bare to the air

wrapped in a fragile barrier of skin and blood

try

fingers becoming claws that rip and tear

nails are molded with globules of flesh and

rivulets of blood flow like rivers down legs

lubricating

rasp of scabbed-over skin no longer heard

scars will be left—the size of shoeprints

wrong to scratch in a public place

red stains white sheets

but the itch is there

just beneath

just a little further

stop thinking

scratch some more

O Typekey Divider

 

HELLSCUMACIOUS DRUG DEALING DAYS

Hello to the Hell,

Of a drug dealer, grapples

With a priceless generiphobe,

Brought back the “knockoff”

In favor of the brand.

 

Welcome to the World,

Of a dopedirger, returns

From her fallacy of a funeral,

Desiring of her drugs

Eight days early.

 

Morning to the Mourning,

Of a lacto-oblivious tech, chomping

On a dry grilled cheesewich brunch,

Carping on the science of dry processed flakes

While captives try to escape.

 

Night to the Neutered,

Of lemon technology, looming

Shadows of pharmaceutical impotence—

Cash register and digitalized dormitories of records and privacy.

Slam the door on the frustrating view.

 

View it no more,

Till the past violates the dreams.

O Typekey Divider

 

Tarnished Gold or The Yellow Brick Road Speaks Out

What is all this repetitive caterwauling about?

If I wasn’t half deaf already, I would be completely now.

Dorothy, dear, do you suffer from early onset dementia?

I heard it is common to misplace a few small words like

Follow the Yellow Brick Road.

 

Let me tell you of arthritis,

Creaking of the joints like your friend, the Tin Man there.

Several bricks lost forever, extra weight bad for my mortar.

You have started on my path with those ruby stilettos.

No more skipping on the Yellow Brick Road.

 

Shards of straw and matted fur all flying about, obscuring my view,

Unfortunate, since I’m to hobble first.

And sticky too. If Toto hikes on me one more time,

I’m misplacing you all in a deep, dark forest.

Head into trouble with the Yellow Brick Road.

 

Old, tarnished gold around the edges, but even with myopic eyes,

I see your fate.

The Great and Powerful Oz! My, what a joke!

Squashed the East, be aware of winged Wicked West minions.

There will be a parting of our ways soon, only girl-child of your obnoxious five.

 

But for now,

Follow the Yellow Brick Road.

 

O Typekey Divider

Jodi Adamson is a pharmacist living in Alabama, the state that recently celebrated its 200th birthday.  In her spare time, Jodi reads, writes, and designs and sews costumes.  Her poetry, essays, and short stories have been published in several online and written journals as well as in some anthologies.  Lately, she has been crafting wire jewellery while trying to keep her Yorkiepoo and her cat from using the excess wire as a chew toy.

 

O Typekey Divider

–Art by Marcos Lomba