by Rowan Ricardo Phillips
illustrator Rosie Roberts
Issue IX
A Hawaiian shirt over a bulletproof vest,
Slumped in a beach chair, its back to the ocean.
Even his red wine spritzer tastes like Skittles now;
It’s the same complaint again and again: the taste
Of things. He only eats food that he can see made.
And since someone suggested he read Sophocles
And put his faith in justice, their talk of having
A child has felt awkward. That poor, poor child, he says.
To have to watch out for that poor child, he says.
That poor child. That poor child. That poor child. That poor child.