Jeffrey Ransdell

You Don’t Know Shit

Ego delicate, natural when
Young and freshly grown but
By rights should be tough and
Armor hard as orange peel left
In hot dry sun as we mature, but no, I realize
And shouted angrily at my beloved.

Small Victory

The fat woman waddled slowly in her jaywalk, contemptuous expression fitting better her angry face than the ragged coat did her bulk, ignoring impatient honking cars filled with people who had more of everything than she.

Basketball Cake

Bird chorus squeaks, sneaker feet dancing on maple floor, dribble’s flat slapping beat, sweat blackened shirts, grunts of “switch” and “down”… rasping breath, heart thudding, weaving shapes, long shot hitting with the sound of ripping silk…too tired to run, can’t run anymore, can’t cut, legs tremble, can’t spin, chest burning…can’t run, god it hurts, have to run, got to run, running…coach’s whistle, bending, grabbing knees, no thought of tests or girls or living, the world compressed to sucking air…

The old man surveyed the empty high school gym.  “Pep rallies, cheerleaders, crowds,” he thought. 

“Just frosting.”