Treating Women Like Used Books
Standing in the library, I stare at the writings
of dead men. Turning the pages of bullet
wounds and broken spines. The faded
words that speak of tall tales and love
lost. All the letters jump out from the
paper and parade in front of my shotgun
eyes, daring me to shoot. My mind jumbles
and spins like carbines repeatedly misfiring.
The only gun I hold is hidden behind the
reflection of my glasses. And when I try
to put you out of your misery I always
blink at the wrong time, as if I’m too
afraid to pull
the trigger.
Honeybee
I’ve heard it said that it takes the entire life’s
work of eight bees to produce just one teaspoon
of honey, and I don’t know if I feel bad, or just
worthless, as I lift my spoon overtop this stale
piece of bread, a litter of stingers lying at my
feet. I do know that I have never worked at
something so long and with such dedication to
taste any lasting sweetness on my lips or even
the feeling of accomplishment that comes from
a life well spent. And I don’t know if a honeybee
is inherently aware of his role in the world, or if
he feels content at the end of the day knowing
that his task is complete, or on his deathbed, there
among his family of other dying bees, together,
yet alone in his honeycomb, does he weep for
himself knowing that it is a human such as I that
will suckle upon his crowning victory? And to
think, I didn’t even wash this spoon before I used it.
Michael O’Neill is a fiction and poetry writer residing in Chicago. His work has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, unFold Magazine, Nanoism, and Cuento Magazine, among others.
–Art by Charles Simms
Sports brands | Women’s Nike Air Force 1 Shadow trainers – Latest Releases , Ietp