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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Written: June 04, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand ***************** Crude oil squats between my ribs as a codependent nebula asking if we can “talk around our relationship.” It purrs, leaks, and files an HR complaint with the Department of Internal Oceans for “hostile hydration practices.” It vibrates in my chest like a supertanker with performance anxiety and no access to therapy. The apple in my hand declares a recession mid-bite, Its seeds unionize, the core files for bankruptcy, and the stem starts a podcast about “resilience.” I chew once, And suddenly I’m liable for three galaxies' worth of debt and one very crestfallen auditor threat. While the fridge appears geopolitical, The milk launches a coup, cynical. The yogurt is sanctioned for “fermenting unrest.” and the butter — Napoleon of refrigeration — amasses troops behind the pickles. While margarine runs for office — for nickels, on a platform of “No More Warmth.” When I walk, the floorboards groan under global markets and interest rates that adjust themselves — Whenever I breathe. They creak like ancient gods who regret outsourcing creation to primates with credit cards. My shadow unionizes, demands cosmic hazard pay and a dental plan, then takes unauthorized smoke breaks in a separate galaxy. Every heartbeat slaps like a tanker hull wondering why anyone trusted apes with fire, feelings, or anything that comes in a bottle. And still — the Strait wears my skin, the world wears my worry like a borrowed coat — And I wear the whole mess two sizes too small, like a thrift-store spacesuit missing its helmet. So I laugh. Because if I don’t, the milk wins — and the apple will schedule another meeting — That should’ve been an email.
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