Carl Carlton’s voice shimmers
through the radio, and I think
that he was a sham prophet. I
signed bleak papers with Jake
just a year after swearing that
we could cherish one another
until the mortal end. And now
our children loll in their rooms
gaping at screens and bawling
that I should keep out as they
are BUSY. My folks’ ballots hit
for the wrong team. Yes, I still
call them, but it’s hard to get a
word in edgewise over blaring
false news in the background.
Maybe I’m just too pessimistic.
When I look toward the back of
my fridge, I start singing along
to the radio. I’ve found it.
last ice-cold Diet Coke.
Linda McMullen is a wife, mother, diplomat, and homesick Wisconsinite. Her short stories and the occasional poem have appeared in over ninety literary magazines. She received Pushcart and Best of the Net nominations in 2020. She may be found on Twitter: @LindaCMcMullen.