Snow Angels In July

As a boy, I could never decide between Captain America’s shield and Wonder Woman’s golden lasso. Childhood’s hardest decision was normally settled by the toss of a two-headed coin. If that sounds absurd, you should meet my wife. And if you think she’s too absurd, you should meet her wife. It all goes from there. I’m like Sisyphus as a Candy Man pushing a giant ball of sugar uphill. Every ant I come across wants a piece of the day’s work. I spend hours and hours worried about the chance of rain, despite what the best weathermen say. I can’t remember when it wasn’t like this. The mailman drops off a daily package of rose colored threats. He smells like autumn and out-of-date aftershave. Neighbors shout at him, in Albanian, through lace curtains. At night, the Batman Signal shines against the sky. Bruce Wayne is secretly a crank. He hates orphans and the letter Q. I met him once, at a party, Cat Woman on his arm. She was dressed in her tired black leather. Every man and woman kept tripping to hand her saucer after saucer of cream.

Mike James is the author of eleven poetry collections. His most recent books include: Crows in the Jukebox (Bottom Dog, 2017), My Favorite Houseguest (FutureCycle, 2017), and Peddler’s Blues (Main Street Rag, 2016.) His work has appeared in over 100 magazines throughout the country in such places as Tar River Poetry, Soundings East, and Laurel Review. He has also been active as an editor for The Kentucky Review, Autumn House Press, and his own Yellow Pepper Press.