Brad Rose

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Just Lucky, I Guess

At irregular intervals, I’m just an average Joe. The things that are good for me, are the things that are bad for me. And vice versa. In most cases, all it takes is a case of mental gymnastics, not superintelligence.  In fact, Artificial Intelligence says that people skills have become increasingly important in the robot workplace.  Of course, it’s difficult to maintain a polished, fashionable exterior when you’re running around like a chicken with its legs cut off, but like the ancient Greeks used to say, the bigger the boat, the higher the wake. Thankfully, every silver cloud has a bituminous lining, although it takes one to know one. As a matter of fact, for a fully authentic experience, you can’t beat pretending to dance with your blind date at a masked ball. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll dodge the silver bullets while taking someone else’s selfies. After all, like the best-intentioned cannibals, we are what we eat, so don’t hesitate to chow down whenever things are looking up. I don’t know why I’m so lucky, but I am.

**
 
Bound to Happen
 
The new incubators are far and away better than the old ones. Of course, you’d barely recognize the baby vampire bats wrapped in all that swaddling, but I’m just trying to capture the low hanging fruit—you know, before it gets too late in the season. Whenever possible, I try to feed them rarified goat milk, but I don’t have a lot of spare cash lying around to invest in neonatal niceties. In fact, one of the most important lessons I learned from my previous career in teaching, is to teach only lessons that don’t have any lesson. That way, you can avoid any unsightly moral pitfalls or potential ethical failings. Like Mrs. Satan used tell me, Lucky things can happen to anyone, so why waste your time trying to be Mr. Nice Guy? I hate to go out on a limb here, but don’t you ever wonder why we don’t see more animals kissing? It’s about as rare a sight as snakes on crutches, but I guess in a pinch, you could always call an ambulance. It’s never too soon to start decluttering before the bodies arrive. Until then, just for stage luck, let’s break some legs and bid a fond arrivederci to our posterity, those traitors. Sooner or later, something’s bound to happen.
 
**
 
Favourite Model
 
I put on my scream-enhancing headphones and start making the same mistakes I always make. My wardrobe may be missing a few of the must-haves, but on the whole, I’m more beautiful than not. Rewind or playback? All my deviations are within the mean. Happy-go-lucky is my preferred theme music, but, then, who doesn’t love dayglo gargoyles? It may be necessary to be relentlessly on-guard, even in the best of happenstances, but no matter how hard they try, they can’t stop you from buttoning up your button-down shirt. That would be tantamount to treason. Everybody’s got to come from somewhere, so I hope you don’t mind; I’d like to use you as a professional reference. Tell me, what’s your favorite model guillotine? 
 
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When I Least Expect It 
 
One thing keeps happening after another. I love the symmetry. In fact, like a snake eating its own tail, every room simmers at room temperature, no matter how hot you are. No need to go that extra mile. After my latest kidnapping, I came down with the Norwegian variant of the Stockholm syndrome, so now I obey only half the orders I’m given. On the upside, I’ve become fluent in glossolalia, although like some clergymen, I soon hope to become tongue-tied. Can’t wait until the grudge match. I’m told that no prior hypnotic training is necessary, unless of course, you’re prepared to meet yourself more than half-way. This fact clearly speaks for itself. On the other hand, it only minimizes my point, so you’re going to need a larger telescope, if you hope to discover anything meaningful in spacetime. Like general anesthesia, one minute you’re present and accounted for, and the next, you’ve completely disappeared. As Einstein said, after inventing the atomic bomb, I’m not looking for a fight, but someday, when I least expect it, I’m going to get even with myself.  
 
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Raising Hackles
 
Like a life-sized model, I’ve been following in my own footsteps. You know how it is when you start nibbling at yourself, and before you know it, you’ve reached the bottom of the bag. What ever happened to gimmicks, anyway? I like toy equations because they’re not as hard as the grown-up kind, although to be fair, they’re therapeutic, particularly when, like a bad boy haircut, they give you a frightful scare. But what else would you expect to be #2 on a cannibal’s shopping list? Of course, you have to catch eels at just the right time; before they electrocute you. Some people prefer to use rubber gloves and boot-foot waders, but not me. I just dive right in and fight off both the alternating and direct currents, simultaneously. By the way, God sure has been making some funny radio transmissions lately, hasn’t He?  Have you noticed how even at low voltages these make the hair on the back of your head stand up? After a few seconds, you don’t care who gets hit by lightning. As might be expected, the grass in Hell always needs cutting. Even if there is none. 
 
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Recognition
 
Asleep in wolves clothing, I’m switching up my vibe. Never feed the hand that bites you. Although it’s beigely sedate in all this noisy humidity, why not rise and shine before you run out of steam? Naturally, you’ll need to confirm which came first, the chicken or the yolk, but I find that it’s always just the right time to recalibrate your forcefield, even if the weather is a little hot and chilly. The fun pack is always a big money saver.

The day before yesterday, as I was taking the low road back to town, I mistook the music for my self. Like an invisible accident, my thoughts began to pile up, and before I knew it, I’d called a discount ambulance, but like Zeno’s paradox, it kept cutting the remaining distance in half, and never arrived. Of course, you can both save and waste time by hunting the duck-rabbit illusion, especially in your own backyard. Is that a stunt or a shtick? I don’t know, but I must say,  you look strangely familiar to me.

 **

Making Excuses 

Kissing was invented in 2400 BC, in the Sumerian city of Nippur. Evidently, everyone there had their own pair of lips and they weren’t afraid to use them. Personally, I admire that kind of inventiveness, but like they used to say in ancient Nippur, Don’t blame me for the meteorite. I’m making excuses as fast as I can.
 
**
 
Silly Me
 
Hurry up. You’ll be late to school. And don’t forget your candy cigarettes. You must never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity, even if it’s due only to good luck. Elsewhere in the region, I’ve finally finished-up impersonating myself. Thank goodness I signed that non-disclosure agreement. It was a long and painful process, accomplished entirely by my trial by error, but then, not everyone testifying under oath can be saved from self-incrimination. Like they say in the legal profession, may the best liar win. Naturally, it's difficult to determine with any certainty whether it’s due to an inferiority complex or an inferiority multiplex, but just because I was voted least likely to succeed, doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve invented a language that only I speak. As you can plainly see, whenever I talk to myself, I don’t understand a thing I say, so let’s put that old wives’ tale to bed, shall we? Say, now that I’m making a list and checking it twice, would you mind lending me your hunting knife? Silly me! I seem to have grabbed someone else's umbrella, by mistake.

 **

Daylight-Saving Time
 
Today’s the first day of daylight-saving time. I hope you didn’t forget to turn your parallelogram ahead by 180 degrees. I’ve just parallel parked my rhomboid helicopter and started doing something beautiful. Sure, it includes animal parts, but only about 30%, and they’ve been fully desensitized. Of course, discovering your dream job takes some inner reflection, so I started off gradually by locating my dream x-rays. I also turned up the volume of my inner voice so I could better hear myself droning on. Before I knew it, my data was fully transparent and my passwords were posted all over the internet. Sometimes you can really surprise yourself.  

Did you know that 80% of mistakes are made by 20% of the population?  Nobody’s perfect, but you’d think that more people would be in a hurry to get it over with before it’s too late. What ever happened to the work ethic?  

By the way, they say that next to carpenter ants, hammerhead sharks are nature’s best carpenters. If you think about it, that’s one of the top reasons to bring along a claw hammer and some sinker nails whenever you go deep sea fishing, although this may be a little hard to wrap your head around. Fortunately, for any memory worth forgetting there are thousands of new mistakes yet to be made.
 
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Dead Horse
 
Not sure whether I took the placebo or the nocebo, but I feel vertiginous and a wee bit verdant around the withers. At least there were no hidden fees. Of course, at the molecular level it’s mostly animalcules all the way down, but I still can’t tell the difference between fuzz and fleece, especially when I’m sleepwalking. A tiger’s skin is striped, just like its fur, so in the morning, I’m going to buy a mohair suit and a magical necktie. Better to be safe, than worry. Customarily, I don’t like to lie about my height because I’m a good Samaritan, even when wearing a mock-turtleneck. Believe me, it’s not for the faint of heart. The last time I took an IQ test, they had to tie my feet and legs so I wouldn’t attempt to escape. That really put me through my paces. I complained again and again, until it nearly killed me. So as not to be a dead horse, I continued to whinny.
 
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The son of two Torontonian ex-patriots, Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles, and lives in Boston. He is the author of seven collections of poetry and flash fiction: I Wouldn’t Say That, Exactly,  WordInEdgeWise,  Lucky Animals, No. Wait. I Can Explain,  Pink X-Ray, de/tonations, and Momentary Turbulence. His book of prose poems, Or Words to that Effect, is forthcoming. Eight times nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and three times nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology, Brad’s poetry and fiction have appeared in: The American Journal of Poetry, The Los Angeles Times, Baltimore Review, New York Quarterly, Lunch Ticket, Folio, Best Microfiction (2019), Action Spectacle, Right Hand Pointing, and other journals and anthologies. His website is www.bradrosepoetry.com