Watch your plosives. The middle school microphone has no screen or stand for that matter, to soften your slip-ups. 9 am Tuesday Parents are perfectly willing to approach your podium, held even on the gym floor’s waves by a fold of duct d-u-c-t duct tape to offer helpful guidance. So watch yourfiddlehorndoesn’t sound a mite likefettle and oughn’tmischievoushave another e sound? Consider it diacriticism. Shake the winner’s hand and shuffle your papers in their metallic pony folder found discarded in a desk. Stride confidently, arm in arm with Merriam, not in the direction of your dreams perhaps, but there is coffee in the work room and the machine works two out of three. For you, today, certainly it will.
Matt Thompson is a writer who lives in Atlanta, GA with his elderly beagle. His short fiction can be found in Aforementioned Productions, R.kv.r.y. Quarterly, and elsewhere. His poetry can be found right here.