The Ceramacist

Sara fell in love with a man. He was a competitor in ceramic shark sculpting competitions. And she had serious plans for him. Gutter cleaning, oil changing, take out the trash plans. But she wasn't ready for him yet. She'd have to wait until her tour of duty was over - which wouldn't be for at least another year. She said, "I've got a light inside of me that burns 100 times brighter than most street lamps. Which is 93% brighter than what's inside of most people." I agreed with her. What I disagreed with was her driving. She drove like her father's rage. He always rode in her back seat. And whenever his temper flared or his blood pressure rose, Sara would crash into something - a parked car, a median strip, a trash can. Impending accidents everywhere. Especially on her way to those shark sculpting contests. Everyone at them was very serious. They all wanted to have the most realistic, most biting ceramic shark sculpture. Sara crashed into a concrete island. And then she thought about how badly she wanted to win.

Word to the Mothers

Thank you to the Mothers, you who wipe our faces with your own spit. Thank you for the trays of cookies and teaching us how to sit. Thank you to Mother Magpie who is a bird, Mother Hubbard who always has a kind word, Mother Superior who jumped a gun, Mother Theresa who gives her all but doesn't have much fun, Mother Jones who carries an old purse, Mother Earth who quenched her baby's thirst, Mother-May-I who teaches the q's and p's, and special thanks to you, dear Mother Fucker, for showing us how to do it on our knees.