What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

Six Foot, Seven Foot, Eight…


The green monkey shouldn’t have been there, but there he was, staring at me like I was a giant talking banana, which, I should say, felt better than being looked at like a potential mate, my name was Buckley, but I changed it because it sounded too much like my least favorite college mascot slash plant, stand and deliver, sure, but reconsider your position in light of the fact that the sun in shining directly on the top of your bald head, I solved the cold case about the dead first mate, but guess what, he’s still dead, the greatest thing I have ever written is still stuck in my brain, trying to leak it’s way out of my pen, or shock my fingers into jumping around to the exact right keys in the right combination with the right composition of emotion and verve, she was on the verge of serving clams for dinner when her boyfriend belched up a lobster tail and she knew at last for sure that he’d been eating around on her, the spur of the moment protest over the recovery of the meteorite was all the nightly-news anchor couldn’t talk about during the broadcast hour, sour grapes are sweet when compared to limes, so if life gives you sour grapes thank the gods that you don’t have to look up how to spell limeade (limade? does anyone here speak Spanish? lime-ade? is it even a real thing? bleck), oh heck, said the old prospector who also never actually existed, I could smell a silver mine from 2.56458 miles away back in my day, especially after I got struck by that lightning and my nose went all magnetic, this set off the frenetic storm-chase movement and the third-and-a-half largest silver rush in U.S. history, this is Listerine directly in the veins to read, ridiculous even for me, but not me at all seeing as my hands are no longer mine, no longer mired to my wristbones, I would have to be known for being the person who discovered that love really is all you need, she said recently that she liked potatoes more than most people, and I agreed in principle, but I couldn’t be fully on board without knowing whether it was “more than most people (do)” which is true for me or “more than (I like) most people” which is also true, Tobias blue himself that one time, and I cried while laughing but not until after Tom got his kids back, stack the hands forty hands high, sire, but don’t “sir” me even after I’m knighted and definitely don’t ask me where all the limbs are going to come from, stumbling into a girl, I knew once in high school, I asked her, “if the world was just one continuous forest, would we be any better than trees…and are we any better now?” and you know what she did, she looked at me as if I were a giant talking banana, which, I should say, felt worse than being looked at like a potential mate.
Daylight come and me wanna go home…

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What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

About Andrew.

Andrew Cartwright grew up in Indianapolis, IN, but has lived over the years in such places as Denver, CO; Fairfax, VA; and Rivne, Ukraine. He is a former nonfiction editor for both Indiana Review and phoebe; he has also worked for the intersectional feminist journal, So To Speak, and the national literary magazine, Electric Literature. His work has appeared in The Normal School Online, Copper Nickel, Esquire Ukraine, Literary Hub, and Word Riot.

For more information about me and links to other writing, visit my author page at cartwriter.com