by Brenda Mann Hammack
The Tender Skull
cookie tater
meat husk
niblet s’more
nib square
loaf pack
bar crisp
frozen fresh
flash packed
serving size
corn based
chip bar wrap-
thin sliced
chunky melt
juice packed
barley broth
fish sauce
chicken fingers
frozen wing dip-
burger ham
ground round
dander mit
turtle wax
salmon skin
leek rue
garlic paste
pinot pint
mint mouth
hot pot
rice crisp
weiner glaze
porterhouse bisque-
wax sheet
wurst tub
butter pat
soup mix
hot cup
cut chew
oil packed
perch gas
treated tray
ice cream scoop-
the baby screams, not crying
a catastrophe of assaulted nerves
her face full red, her eyes
wide, agog with betrayal
arms in the air above her head
her tiny heart racing to catch the passing blur
her senses engulfed by the otherworldly
lunatic row after row of sensate noise
throb and gush igniting her mind
filling the delicate funnel of her eyes
the cold freshening air tastes like wilted lettuce
and low watt engine smoldering in oil
her mother pushes the cart
checks the list, and again
negotiates crowded aisles
crammed with silent choosing
tired adult brains vs precision marketing
with lunatic fonts
eye exploding colors
talking animals
violent reds
and nuclear orange
infused with deft chemistry
to incite grotesque consumption
of non food food items
birthing hyperspeed cartoons of craving
an undefinable dark need to consume is
almost satisfied and just out of reach
in the imagined animal drowse of chewing
the baby’s brain simmers
in the bonfire of subliminal salesmanship
the mother’s face, the color of grits
eyes longing for the door
in a line of similar faces, waiting
as the scanner bleats
the bags are pulled
the bags are filled
the bags are placed, then replaced
beside the baby in the crowded car
strapped and buckled into her seat
the smell of plastic and fresh doughnut
and the stale heat of the car
put her to sleep
her dreams are an expanding universe
of gibbering noise
pulsating against the throbbing drum
of her tender skull
hacking away at the virgin neuronal forest
as the car, the chemistry
and the mother and the baby and
the shrink wrapped, focus group tested
supremely moist, corn based edibles
snug in twelve ounce doses
become
slow
moving
traffic
Paul Hiatt is a writer, musician and hospital worker living in Friday Harbor, Washington. He graduated from Indiana University with a degree in Anthropology. His writing has been featured in The Bicycle Review, Oddball Magazine, Rusty Truck, The Bitchin’ Kitsch and Falling Star Magazine.
In addition to serving as managing editor and web designer for Glint Literary Journal, Brenda Mann Hammack teaches folklore, modern poetry, women’s literature, and creative writing at Fayetteville State University where she also serves as coordinator for the BA in Creative and Professional Writing. Her book, Humbug: A Neo-Victorian Fantasy in Verse, was released in 2013. Other work (poetry, fiction, and digital art) has appeared or is forthcoming in Menacing Hedge, The London Reader, The Fabulist, 3Elements Review, The Hunger, Anthropoid, NILVX, Rhino, A capella Zoo, and Lissa Kiernan’s Glass Needles & Goose Quills. Her collaborations with Maureen Alsop appear in They Said: A Multi-Genre Anthology of Contemporary Collaborative Writing (Black Lawrence Press 2018). Brenda also collaborates with wilder folk. Some have antlers, others wings. Their portraits can be found on her Instagram gallery (@brendahammack) along with additional collages from her ongoing series, “Flipping Art History.”