As We Found It Comfortable for the Broken Desires

by Jonathan Yungkans

Winter rain, which for years had forgotten to exist, forgot to stop falling, twisting and leaping off hillsides with a giggle of psychopath comedians, a brown tide resembling hot chocolate. Black coffee’s my natural outlook. I needed WD-40 to spray my Heavenly Maker’s joints but the market had stopped carrying it months ago. The tide kept rising. It pressed against the towering plate-glass storefront until the glass quivered like jelly. Watching it, I had questions for said Maker, such as Where’s the pizza? and What’s all that blood on the wall?

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Jonathan Yungkans continues to type at odd hours of the night while listening to owls hoot and watching yet another skunk amble beneath his house's foundation. He remains thankful when his writing is less noxious than the creature benath his bathroom's floorboards. During the day, he works as an in-home care provider and rooming-house manager, fueled by copius amounts of coffee. He suspects his blood type has long ago morphed into Starbucks House Blend. (The title of this piece is taken from a poem in John Ashbery's A Wave.)