All Of This Is True (Except That None Of It Is)

Yesterday I went shopping but all I came home with
were two-by-fours and applesauce. I know absolutely

nothing about my paternal grandmother, not even her
name. I have a secret desire to learn to tap dance. Try

and remember what it was like when you felt welcomed
by the sight of your own tall shadow. The platypus is the

official animal of the state of denial. Whenever I see honey
bees I think of photosynthesis, pollination, and love. All

of Robert Johnson’s legendary blues recordings were
mastered at the wrong speed so I suspect nothing else

is really as it seems. Father was a screen door repairman
who kept a razor in his sock. Mother sold ice cube trays

from the trunk of a burning car. As a boy I weighed next to
nothing and I spoke in heavily accented english. In high school

I wanted to belong to a secret society that influenced world
events, but I had to settle for the Columbia House Record Club.

Once my brother shot me in the shoulder with an arrow. My
other brother left home, came back, stayed awhile, and then left

once more, never to be seen again. My sister and I communicate
exclusively by postcard. I often dream of flight but I’m really scared

of heights. When do you feel the weight of your faith (or lack
thereof) the most? For me it is when I’m changing a light bulb.

Krakatoa, My Love

Please
don’t ash your cigarette on my shoulder,
alright? Stop trying to influence me.
Most people are just dumb
enough to believe something stupid.
Identifying features? Ten fingers,
ten toes, two eyes, a mouth and a nose.
Just like everyone else. A little tweak
to the old DNA and voila, a lightning
bug. There’s a little flame inside us all.
That’s not really true, I don’t know
where I heard that. Some people will say
anything when all of their learning
comes from sit-coms and cook books.
When it depends heavily on forgetfulness
and The Collected Letters of Evel Kneivel.
In a world governed by machines and tiny
clockwork, you constantly remind me,
hot magma is stored just beneath
the earth’s crust, plastic covers on the furniture
won’t help when there is an eruption
and a river molten lava is oozing towards us.
Just stand perfectly still, and flowers will grow
all around you

Applebees Rexburg, Idaho

That’s not to say it was easy
being raised by bears.
There was the language barrier,
although we did learn
to communicate after a fashion.
Then there was the cold,
me not having any fur after all.
And the mauling. God, the less said
about the mauling the better I suppose.
But there were some good things about it as well.
Eating berries in the forest,
romping across meadows,
catching salmon in the river.
Scratching my back against a tree in the sunshine.
Anyway that was all a long time ago.
My name’s Ricky and I’ll be your server today.
Can I start you folks off with some drinks?

Patrick Meeds lives and works in Syracuse, NY and studies writing at The Downtown Writer’s Center at the Syracuse YMCA. He has been previously published in Stone Canoe literary journal, the New Ohio Review, Tupelo Quarterly, the Atticus Review, Whiskey Island, and is forthcoming in East by Northeast Literary Magazine.