Calypso
by
Christela Cabreros
It stands there until midnight swarmed with nocturnal insects and flies on the shadowy street corner I call my own. Who knows how many people have passed it by unnoticed, unwanted like other souls at this ungodly hour? To others it's an uninspiring tequila bottle chipped at the tip with a torn logo reminiscent of imperial days. The amber glints with obscure memories without the cap, a reminder of how it got there. The bushes nearby are mangled by a recent blow of fate I choose not to remember. And now Captain Montgomery stands there alone like me. We meet again, I whisper. How truly alike we are, empty, un-whole, drained of worth.
I could stare at it forever but I've forced myself to take steps towards this waste of space until it stands before me like a prisoner under a guillotine. I obey the impulse, pick it up and smash it against the pavement where precious blood once flowed. How I love the feel of it ground deep into my open palm. Soon there's nothing but darkness as a misguided wind pushes the docile cloud into the flow of moonlight.
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