If I have a pinky figure, do I also have a greeny? Collegiate marshmallows stack up war,
rain buffets hard-hatted heads crossing to the laundromat amidst an avalanche of stairs.
Picture this, a snapshot of pastures filled
up with the currency of goats, a
grouping of golden tokens in floral shade
since goats like to trade their possessions
for other goat possessions.
Poseidon checks his watch, wonders where they’ve gotten off to, churning the root beer float foam of the sea. He unwraps a bag of blue corn chips, dips one into the bubble-wrap blur of
water
as he begins to bob for kelp.
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Main Squeeze Literary Journal 