The Color Blind Busboy Reaches for His Pilot Wings By Maureen Kingston

Icarus peered through the optometrist’s goggles, saw a fungus-dusted wheel of brie. The tester clicked. Another slide of cheese — mold spores gyrating, saltating. Then, a blossomed boll of cotton. Did he see an eight within its seeds? the tester asked. He did not — could not connect the dots. The slides were speaking in jumbled tongues, projecting meaningless constellations. He wanted to murder the mad chef who’d scrambled his rods and cones, who’d fried his dream of growing wings, but the brute was back at the diner, prepping for the lunch rush — slicing Achilles’ heel just so.

© 2015 Maureen Kingston

Maureen Kingston is an assistant editor at The Centrifugal Eye. Her poems and prose have appeared or are forthcoming in B O D Y, Gravel, IthacaLit, So to Speak, Stoneboat, Stone Highway Review, Terrain.org, and Verse Wisconsin. A few of her prose pieces have also been nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart awards.

Comments are closed.