| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Keith Wood lives and works in Philadelphia, but is originally from Columbus, Mississippi. He has had work published in Negative Capability, The Dilettante, and has a poem and a short story that will be appearing in the June issue of Underground Voices. He has written a slew of poetry, a collection of short stories, and 2 books (as yet unpublished). And yes, he is still a redneck. |
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| © 2005 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| GIFT |
| by Keith Wood |
| He tried not to hurry,
parting his hair just right in the graffiti ruined mirror. The symbol meant nothing to him. It wasn't a curse or an obvious threat. However It did seem to imply ownership. He'd inherited his mother's natural blonde waves that had to be greased back with sticky pomade. All the girls loathed it. But it helped to dull the curls down to an unclean neutral color that had no name. He got his mother's loving blue green eyes as well, which he usually hid behind cheap drugstore shades. Other times, he just narrowed his stare, fiercely, like Clint Eastwood or Kirk Douglass, and tried not to speak. She'd unselfishly given him that too. Slipping the comb into his hip pocket, he paused to admire the crooked slope of his nose, the delicate shadowy cleft that centered his chin. He smiled at himself, at his tobacco yellowed teeth and the silvery stubble that hid the scabbed over claw marks. Vanity, he nodded to himself. was the ultimate curse. A questioning knock at the door startled him. Still, he tried not to hurry. The quick were sloppy and lacked style. He washed his face one last time and drew near the glass, making sure what his father had given him did not show. Then he turned and unlocked the door. |
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| July 2005 |
| 44 |