The silent crowd
Made a roaring stadium
Too fast to dodge:
A blur
He swung the bat:
A blow
Line drive

Innocent and undeserving
The catcher caught,
She prayed he’d miss

But the glass cracked
Cranberry juice spilled onto the floor
When it puddled the carpet bled
Bulbs flashed red
Mercury rose
Balloons exploded then
The lights went out

(A lumberjack yells timber)
The earth quaked and the black hole swallowed

He was going to get away with it again. . .

She came to with a dizzy head
Stained, soaked crimson thighs
He said he’d get away with it

The stairs were the accused
There was no charge

It’s birthday was a funeral


About Margaret Wang

In this crazy World, if we have something to say we should say it; whether in word, song, dance or paint. As writers, we write what we must, what we see, what we feel and what others experience but cannot articulate or understand. This is the duty and power of the writer; to release into the world our visions and our passions as if bleeding dry. Here at Stuck Pig I give you my word and hope that my voice reaches like minds so they know they are not alone, and unlike minds so they may share my glasses for a day. This is life lived as me, digested by me and translated for anyone caring to step out of their shoes for a few paragraph’s length. I am vulnerable and opinionated. You may judge me justly or unjustly, as I judge the rest of the world. I invite you to view Life through my window. View all posts by Margaret Wang

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