Duress by Bruce Reisner

when the light aircraft crashed in the driveway

out pops the egg shaped pilot

a zucchini smashed into his holster

canned peas and carrots bulge from pockets in his jodhpurs

his Doc Martens knee deep in mismatched pumpkins

arrogant

entitled

he doesn't knock before entering

he is tracking pumpkin interstices across my pristine nylon rug

walks right to my glass case containing the taxidermy moose

and says 'guilty, guilty, guilty'

"of what?" I say

"that was here when we bought the unit"

I say, my voice going up four octaves

bubbles forming in my coffee

my significant other already taking sides

the children we traded stamps for

eager to hear the pilot story

he stood silent

I lost my nerve

"so what if we are having fried squirrel for breakfast"

I was almost begging forgiveness

the family was too eager

to rat out all our secrets

the intruder entirely compelling

---

Bruce Reisner is a 63 y/o artist/writer living in the Pittsburgh North Hills, where daily life is like a page from a William Faulkner novel. His work has been seen in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, and in a number of online lit magazines.