My hands jump, gyrate, and shudder
to the beat of their own drum,
causing my eight fingers to become thumbs.
They ignore my implicit commands,
with their own explicit demands.
I wish I did not have to perform
brain surgery in this lightning storm,
by use of this chainsaw.
He placed an apple on his shoulder,
and challenged me to remove it by force.
His taunts were threatening and vulgar.
After some thought, I found a recourse.
I knocked him out with a chloroform soaked rag,
once he stopped instigating and turned his head.
I dragged him to my workshop, grabbed my tool bag,
then pulled out a scalpel and spool of thread.
I made a pocket sized incision.
Then I sewed the apple inside his shoulder.
He awoke in a state of confusion—
not realizing what's under the sutures.
Now he walks about as an object of laughter.
Some mention he smells of infection,
and maggots are seen in the seeping fissure.
He complains of an itchy sensation.
friends of mine said
“we’re going to play
I believed them
I didn’t notice the shovels
I can’t see, can’t move
my skin burns, bones throb
phone, shoes, wallet are gone
vital liquids drench my clothes
I try to slow my pulse
saving the air in my lungs
I writhe, bend, shake
dirt spills into the gaps formed
worms burrow in my nose
drinking fluids for survival
they slide across my face
preparing their home
I feel vibrations—a pounding
they jump up and down
I open my mouth to scream
more earth seals the space
I hear their laughter
my friends stand above
having their fun
while I'm here
Dr. Marshall was a Navy SEAL
now he employs the tactics learned
as the new English professor
one day his most disliked student
turns enemy combatant
when he turns in his term paper
the quality of writing is an act of terror
so the doctor water boards the student
sprays him with industrial grade mace
then pins student’s hands to table
with bayonets pulled from his briefcase
now he calls in his enhanced interrogator
she’s a tall red-headed metal maiden
with a crack of her whip “Failure’s not an Option”
she climbs on the desk to stand on his fingers
the student’s blood hides the errors
it hurts but he enjoys the fishnets
the tattoo on her thigh looks like Whitman
she pours out a can of alphabet soup
the student is forced to move letters
into sentence structure
using only lips and tongue
her black boots are the chalk board
for three hours he faces the whipcord.
the best the student could do is a Haiku
it’s gibberish but she commands him to stop
then makes the student eat the entire alphabet
next he’s duct taped and thrown into the closet
he smiles because he finally feels inspired
and her phone number is carved into his skin tissue
Nick Romeo is a multidisciplinary artist, musician and writer. His writings have been published in The Brentwood Anthology, by Pittsburgh Poetry Exchange, Uppagus, Rune, StreetCake Magazine, Eye Contact, Syzygy, and others. He was interviewed for Pankhearst’s Fresh Featured poet of December 2015. Nick lives in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania with his wife and cat, Megatron.