The Graveyard Mannequins
by
Don Broyles
Here is another prose poem from
The Graveyard Mannequins, by
Don Broyles:
Bloomin’ Bubba
When Bubba last in the barnyard bloom’d, I picked up a bucket placed on top of a pile of hay and spritzed his upturned face, hopefully enough to quench his dry, cracked lips and startle him into wakefulness. But it was too late. His hair petals droop’d in a way that signified death was close at hand, and his face looked thin and haggard on top of the brown-colored peduncle that bore the tiny human head. He would be missed, but it was not a big loss considering he was never very intelligent to begin with. His vocabulary was limited, which I found frustrating. Combined with his heavily-accented hillbilly speech (as if mocking me), I became infused with such uncontrollable rage that I had no recourse but to initiate newer, more efficient techniques of persuasion. In the garden, I heard numerous tiny cries of distress as I picked up my gardening shears.
If you like creepy weirdness combined with a sense of humor - both elements perfect for Halloween - then give it a try.
Here is the link:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FSLNZVKL...s%2C219&sr=8-2