Edibles at DIA

Time slows while the head of this people-snake awaits severance / I’m somewhere in the belly / a pile of skin and bones and hair / trudging toward my own decomposition / laptop bag weighing on my shoulder / heavy with books I brought and bought because I’m dangerous after a few beers / Like King Kong, TSA’s got nothing on me / no weapons, liquids, fireworks, aerosol cans, e-cigs, or strange batteries / not even drugs / besides the ones making my eyes blush / and everything sounds like I’m underwater / Another head gets lopped off and I wish I had sunglasses / or eye drops, so that I don’t look like a demon / or worse, someone on their first trip to Denver / someone who had a little too much fun / someone who underestimated the strength of a milligram / in a gumdrop / a cookie / a caramel chew / a tin of dark chocolate espresso beans that pick you up and bring you down / Someone haunted by the mowed-over mess of a garter snake / writhing in a splash of red on freshly cut grass.

Jason Salvatore Oliva writes when he can, but mostly teaches college composition. He holds an MA in Writing and Publishing from DePaul University, where his flash fiction and poetry have appeared in the school affiliated journal Crook & Folly, as well as the journal Poetry East. When he’s not elbow-deep in ungraded papers, he’s chipping away at a mountain of unfinished works-in-progress. Originally from Chicago, he currently lives in St. Louis with his wife, son, and dog.