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Toothpaste
as I squeeze the toothpaste
onto my toothbrush staring
into the hotel room mirror
I wonder
if the apocalypse happens,
could I sustain myself
by eating toothpaste?
With a foamy mouth
I examine
the near empty
travel size tube
It expired a year and a half ago.
Punching Air
you had to sneak up yelling did no good
walking up lightly shaking whispering Dad
never a good idea
a punch was coming your way too fast to dodge
ten quarters stacked on his elbow
caught in that hand
FAST
3rd-degree tae-kwon-do black belt
FAST
you learn that lesson once
Saturday afternoon boxing matches
watching with eyes closed
laid out in the recliner TV so loud
the deaf could hear it
which was kind of the point
I go for the toes down on all fours
for a punch to reach He’d have to sit up
and I’m hitting the ground
the recliner footrest my shield
no war zone in that sleeping mind
bad ears take you out of the draft line but
What’s behind those closed lids?
that keeps him on high alert
Punching air
at the slightest touch.
Jason Melvin is a happily married father of three children and one granddaughter. He has of late rediscovered his joy of writing and thought WTH, let’s try publishing. His work has recently appeared in From Whispers to Roars, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Raw Art Review, Rat’s Ass Review, The Closed Eye Open, Kitchen Sink Magazine, The Electric Rail, and Front Porch Review.
Shambles 