Stolen Bikinis

by Brad Rose

Last night, I dreamed of lawyers. Hey, I don’t make the law. Now, I’m eating a little packet of space food and wondering, Do flowers like sex? Experts say it will only get worse. When I told my shoplifter cousin, Nadine — you know, the one with that ugly bump on her head — that she might go to hell for all the bikinis she’s stolen, she said, It’s not about the clothes, Clarence, it’s about the weather. Like Schrodinger’s dog, I ran away.


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