World Cup
The ISIS Brit
tall in the desert
blade by his side
talks to the camera
severs the head
of the orange infidel
kneeling beside him
kicks the head
across the sand
while the world
has a beer
in its coliseum
deaf to Satan
shouting “Goal!”
A Matter of Business
Every day at noon
when church bells peal
Rufus stops counting his money
gets up from his roll-top desk
lights a Cuban cigar
pours a glass of fine wine
and looks out his garret window
hoping to see Martha
his neighbor dead in the snow
dropped by a heart attack
or maybe black ice.
Either will do.
Too old to shovel the walk
she can’t afford to have it done.
Rufus never thought Martha
would live this long.
When she finally dies
the property reverts to
him
the result of a deal he cut
with her dead husband Mort
years ago when the couple
needed his money and Rufus
figured they’d die in no time.
Mort was quick to cooperate
but Martha has been a turtle.
Twice now Rufus has lost
good buyers for the place
rehabbers think is worth
fixing.
Rufus doesn’t agree
but he’ll sell the place in
seconds
to anyone who offers the money.
For now, when church bells peal
Rufus lights a cigar, drinks wine,
looks out the window and
thinks,
Hurry up Martha and die.
A Night in Morocco
Middle of the night he
flies out of bed
to the commode only to
wonder
in the dim light minutes later
if that's blood or
simply a good-bye
from his wife’s stewed
tomatoes,
a Moroccan
dish she found on the web.
When he asked for a third serving
he pronounced them delicious.
So too, he said, was her dessert,
the Moroccan plum mousse
with the dark plums he likes.
Even with the ceiling light
on
he doesn’t know now what he
sees
so with his medical history
he's
speeding at midnight to the ER
where the doctor
says better safe
than sorry and orders a fast
colonoscopy to solve the mystery.
When he finally gets home, he
tells
his wife when her boss comes over
for that big dinner Saturday night,
why not make Moroccan tomatoes
and her magnificent plum mousse.
He may never forget either.
Donal Mahoney
Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had
work published in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and
Africa. Born and reared in Chicago, he’d probably be in Ireland if the English
hadn’t sent his father abroad after he served time for running guns for the
IRA. Some of his earliest work can be found at: http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com
