Pennies Not From Heaven

 No fortune, only pennies exploded on the floor.

It all came to a head. And her mother wouldn’t die.

She shattered the water bottle filled with pennies.

They were everywhere in the room.

She wasn’t going to pick them up. They can clean it when I'm gone.

It’s a mess. This house has never been a mess and now she was going to fill it.

Everything had to be clean and contained no matter the cost.

Nothing out of place.

What will I do when you are gone? The fight is not over because you are gone.

I will forever be haunted by your disapproval, your rigid anger. Your scathing hate. And there she was in that house. That very clean house, where disregard had been defiance. Lightning. Hate. Love. Obligation. Fear.

The tedium, the rage.

Surrender. But to what.

The man on the mower in the middle of the street. Oblivious.

The man, entitled to his mower and his movement. Another Florida asshole in my way.

I honked, loudly.

He took umbrage. Of course he did. He didn't realize what he released.

The Kraken rose, seething. The kraken had simmered hot. The kraken had boiled. Now Eruption. Destruction. Reckless untethered rage. Boiling rolling screaming steam.

Drained every bit of itself into the air. Tore at the foundations of self loathing. Nurtured by mother. Undermining every ounce of weakness that could be captured, conquered, tortured.

No breaks, no fissures, just a normative escape from the womb of hate. Disdain, disapproval.

disappointment.