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  You could have a big dipper   

Piles by by Colin Gee

TW: Suicidal Ideation

My wife left me for our shortstop, said he was sweet and had better range and a stronger throwing arm than me. Did not mention any other parts of his body. Sent our daughters to their grandparents by train in Tallahassee but they refuse to write, so I spent this week’s per diems on long-distance phone calls but ended up just talking to my in-laws because the shits won’t come to the phone, something about rehearsals. Wife is traveling with the team and the hotel rooms are paper thin so I turn up the radio even though I hate music and the dumb thrum of people’s voices, but there are worse things in this world, and the skipper comes down the hall and says lights out but there is only so much thinking you can do in the dark on your own.

Have been flailing at balls way outside the strikezone and airmailing routine grounders into the stands and I got benched for a rookie named Cheez so we had to fight it out of course and he knocked me down. He hit me again and again as I lay there in my blood on the off-white locker room tiles. Cheez has a better right hook than you, my wife laughed before they pulled him off me.

They took my house away and I had to sell the car and was told to pack my things for the farm because Cheez keeps belting home runs and triples with a cheese-eating smirk and they say he has a stronger throwing arm than mine, though all they ever do is talk about arms.

Look at my legs, I didn’t tell them, I’ve got the legs of a horse. Look at these jewels.

I saved my job by volunteering to do the toilets when we’re playing home, so now I am a second-string third baseman and a third-rate janitor. There are piles of dirty laundry on the floor of the room I rented, I am a pile of dirty laundry. Whole team has just turned on me with silent anger because I am a Jonas, a jinx, a failure. Yesterday a scoop of ice cream literally fell off the cone onto the floor before I could get my tongue to it.


I went to the doctor about my hay fever, rheumatism, recent splitting headaches, lack of energy, inability to swallow, phlegmatic coughing, antacid reflux, and a desire to shoot myself.

Doctor comes in, says your anus is prolapsed, son, and now I can’t even ride the pine.


Colin Gee (@ColinMGee) is founder and editor of The Gorko Gazette (@GorkoThe /, a daily and zine that publishes headlines, cartoons, reviews, and bad poetry. Past/upcoming short fiction in Sledgehammer, Expat Press, Misery Tourism, Exacting Clam, and Pure Slush.

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