The Fever
The fever, it was blamed on an ambitious bug in Asia
that went mad before being published posthumously in a Chinese spider's web
he was wrapped in a spider-silk shroud, but before he was struck down by fate
he had known many victims of his own, so it was rumored
it was confirmed in the tabloids
they were seized by the fever, that fever that soared high and spread so widely that it became a plague
the fever to achieve
the fever to buy and sell short
the fever in the archaeologist to unearth sensational finds
the fever to walk the line after a string of shots at the local bar in front of the county sheriff wielding the threat of a DUI
the fever to seduce a young woman who made clear her desire not to engage in sexual relations
the fever brought on by contumacious desire that destroys its owner
the fever to pose in Playboy and party with Hugh Hefner
the fever to go to Harvard Law in the hopes of either upholding or
overturning Roe v. Wade
the fever to make or destroy a famous name
the fever to accumulate massive wealth
the fever that forgets the inevitable death
that denounces hell as an archaic and now post-modernist myth
it quite possibly is, but why all the concern?
the fever that is consumed with the self
until it destroys not just that but everything else around it
The Transformer
Slums are now becoming Elysian fields filled with hydrangea bushes
flushed children are scaling new towers at the playgrounds
the drugs are gone here
in reality, they have simply migrated elsewhere
it's not the end of the world because we still have to go to work
but even our cars are nicer, and they run better
of course the gas is just under three dollars a gallon
the paramedics are arriving faster, too
when they are called
the transformer charged them with gross negligence and reckless disregard in terms of our state of existence
he invited them to cross the poverty line
he gave them plenty of time but not one of them took him up on it
the transformer, he lights things up
he rights the wrongs, he's a champion
the wealthy athletes will often bounce an idea off the transformer in terms of charities in the community
he is above it all, he is loved
but the reality of it is that there are transformers all over the map
some divert the negative energy into the nearest knot of tangled lines that happens to be next in its path, while the exceptional one will address the negativity head-on rather than driving it into someone else's backyard
one way or another, the transformer is adored to the point of being deified
not the end of the world, but a better way of life for people called hordes in a book of nineteenth-century prose sitting on a chrome shelf in a loft apartment somewhere just west of downtown
The Monarch
That was the afternoon that he slumped over the dining room table and stared out the window at some renegade hydrangeas
he caught a ride with a milkweed butterfly
he threw his arms around her neck and his sides were set against her wings
they spent the winter in Florida
he had never been to Jacksonville, he said
she took him to the ocean
they visited quaint seaside shops with fishermen's sweaters and their thick coils all wound together in a nice pattern
they sat together at patio tables at very fine restaurants
she was full of color and life and the predators knew better than to tangle with her
he was with her when her waxy and jaded daughter emerged from her chrysalis
his companion, though, she drank quite a bit
one day on a flight to Mexico she made an unexpected stop
she left him at a truck stop with a bus stop on the highway,
back in a little while, she said
but she never did come back
he caught a ride home on a Greyhound bus
he assumed she had died
he missed her, he had loved her
the flighty monarch of his life
The Boy From Belfast Who Could Never Go Home
She spent the evening drinking with a fireman in his fifties and a boy from Belfast who could never go home
between the three of them, they washed down quite a bit of liquor
they spoke of the bombings in England, the dozens dead and the disfigurements
they spoke of the cost of a pint in Dublin since the advent of the Euro and the fact that it was like Confederate money
they told jokes, some were funny, some were not
they sang popular Irish songs being played on the jukebox, at least the fireman did (at the top of his lungs)
they listened to the Wolfe Tones, they watched it get dark, they all liked Heaney
they talked about the drought and the yellow grass and weeds and fertilizer
the two men bought her drinks and they kept talking, she mentioned her sister and her brother and her mother and her baby
the boy from Belfast never asked about the father
she never asked him why he could not go back
she assumed it was IRA or a possessive American wife
she left about one, they stayed on and closed the place
she always remembered the boy from Belfast who could never go home
she thought of him often over the years
The Fog
The years of grappling in dense fog
small steps taken at lengthy intervals
drivers' foreheads wearing a film of sweat
shoulders smashed in together with hands and forearms wrapped around the wheel
terror of unsensed obstacles, of unseen headlights, of thatched holes in the paths
of human error
throbbing in the ears
the unnamed, unspecified, walking, talking driving fears
beyond sound, beyond tears
blood rushing to the scene, heart pumping against the walls
the shortness of breath
the cold and anonymous taste of death that leaves no recollection
the fear itself wreaks devastation
the fear has now been coupled with death
and the fog has touched down on the streets of New York
at the Pentagon, in London
in Baghdad, in Bangladesh
in every corner of every unlit patch of alley or otherwise unlighted space in every country
the fog of terror
the fog of death
and the driving force of war
About the author:
Malaya Macdonald lives in Chicago. She has a master's degree in journalism from Northwestern University, and her work has appeared in publications including the Long Islander/Walt's Corner and the Orphan Leaf Review. She is participating in the 2005 Chicago Poetry Festival.
© 2011 Word Riot
