Brad Rose

by Brad Rose

Just when you think you need it least, something below average happens. At other times, everything looks so ordinary, you realize it can’t be helped. It’s like a hidden agenda. All last week, I hardly recognized myself. I have a crowded mind, but it’s well below the quota.

At the uniform store, nothing fit me, so I conversed with myself a few times and left empty-handed. I had a bad taste in my mouth.

Later, at Melinda’s, Brandi ran around, a quarter-dressed and half-cocked. Nobody likes her, not even her latest husband. She was waving around Melinda’s Glock. Who wants some real acupuncture, she asked?

Good thing I had my stun gun with me.

Say, how fast does your blood pump? I feel like I’ve been running uphill for at least a week. Used to think it was because I have too much energy, but Brandi swears it’s because I never know when to stop.

How I Shot My First Husband

by Brad Rose

When all else fails, sometimes the best way to get to know someone is to shoot ‘em. Anyway, that’s what happened with my first husband (may he RIP—but that’s another story). We met just outside a bar on the west side of Tulsa, when his damn girlfriend said my hairdo looked like a chicken danced on my head.

Dang, I hate it when those biker babes make fun of my long hair, just 'cause it’s a little tall, and what’s worse, I had just went to “Janet’s Hair Doin’s,” where Janet her own self coiffed my bouffant. So I shot at that snotty bitch (not Janet, of course, but that biker bitch) and missed. I hit her boyfriend instead—just grazed him—and, later, as he laid in the middle of Baker Street and I was apologizing to him for making his throttle arm hurt like that, I asked him out, ‘cause I could see that blimpbag girlfriend of his was a totally useless bunch a cow ballast, who couldn’t stand the sight of blood, even if it wasn’t her own. Yeah, I told him I was usually a better shot, and not to judge me by my aim—‘cause I don’t usually miss when I know what I’m aiming for—at least when I got six in the chamber.

“How I Shot My First Husband” originally appeared in Right Hand Pointing, No. 34, August 2010.

Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles, and lives in Boston. He is the author of three collections of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing, 2015), de/tonations, (Nixes Mate Press, 2020), and Momentary Turbulence (Cernvena Barva Press, 2020). Two new books of prose poems, WordinEdgeWise from Cerven Barva Press and No. Wait. I Can Explain. from Pelekinesis Press, are forthcoming in 2022. Brad is also the author of seven poetry chapbooks, including the recently released Collateral and Funny You Should Ask. Brad’s poetry has appeared in, The Los Angeles Times, The American Journal of Poetry, New York Quarterly, Cloud Bank, Into the Void, and other publications. (A complete list of publications is available at: http://bradrosepoetry.com/2019/03/a-list-of-publications/ ) . His story “Desert Motel,” appears in Best Microfiction, 2019. Brad’s website is: www.bradrosepoetry.com Selected readings are available at http://bradrosepoetry.com/audio-readings/