Perched on the rim of your sunglasses, he sits, feet swinging,
and reminds you that someone must’ve loved King Herod
before or after he ordered The Innocents massacred, but that
doesn’t keep the traffic out of your ear, so you ask him to roll
out some story about the stoplights giving each other the go
ahead deep into black morning, but he laughs and points out
that you’ve already told yourself, and your light has gone green so you better hurry or the horns will split you open, and you ask him, your Valet Miniscula, if anything should happen
to him will there be another assigned to your service and he
tells you it would be difficult, what with all the committees
and subcommittees and other obscure occurrences clouding
Miniscula conduct, and so you roll up your window knowing
that in the end, it probably isn’t worth it, and, who knows,
he’d probably find you and you would inevitably find him,
likely hiding among your other prescriptions.
James Cole is a poet, author, filmmaker, and scientist based in Virginia, USA. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including Oddball Magazine, Poetica Review, and Angel Rust Magazine. In 2019 he released his first collection Crow, come home through VerbalEyze Press.