Friday and I was driving all the way home to
sit in the one chair that did not double as a toilet
and watch my father lurch through a dream.
I stopped for gas and flipped open my wallet
to find something very off with my license:
My fugue-state face was gone from the photo,
replaced with a scan of a large battered brain.
I held it to the cabin light. I flipped it over –
there was a website trailing off in gov but
my phone froze before the page could load.
I did not know what else to do besides start
pumping gas, standing under a sign where
cell phones, cigarettes, and my fugue-state face
were circled and crossed out in blood.
Anthony R Cordello lives and works in Boston. He has work published in decomP magazinE, Jellyfish Review, Jersey Devil Press, Gravel, and The Airgonaut.
