(Originally Published in Speculative City)

The radioactive waste

my home sleeps on

seeped into Sarah’s brain

as she twisted her sheets

into a knot of neurological reject

slapping a July 4th dawn

when her eyes snapped open

like a turtle in attack.

When we raided

the pancake table, the syrup

sloshing in her mouth

morphed into a puddle of oil

spilling from her engine-

gurgling stomach.

Did I really marry

this product of cellular-

driven internal combustion?

With the clouds unzipping

a downtown rattle, I punch through

a nexus of hail

stinging my Homo sapient skull.

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