Giving Up

It isn’t just giving up one time
It’s choosing to give up every day
That’s what completes the circuit
There is no other way to stop the Death Machine

I remember the first time I chose to give up
I was in the middle of a sentence,
Handing a customer their change,
Which scattered to the floor in a festive jingle,
And I decided to be finished with this bullshit

The next day I almost went to work
Scared to halt the progress we had made
Who else would exchange dollars for candy bars?
Then I thought better and gave up again
Falling instead into a deep sleep til noon
After which I ate half a cake and wrote six sonnets
Before dinner I crafted a third of a novel
And fixed my mind on smashing up a slumlord

Tish Turl, Locust Review 5 (2021)

Spider Memorial 

named for the spiders 
bred to be officers,
eight legged fascists.

700 spiders
the size of house cats,
700 badges but two batons each.
Strict instructions to maim 
not arrest.

Two weeks on their beat
they beat a child to death
for playing in the road.
The next day, 52 died
as they burned the station
to the ground.

Tish Turl, Red Wedge (2019)

648 Spiders

I see the spiders turned out
to be useful, parading in circles
chewing food for the patients. 
Three of them tapping in 6/8ths time
two legs above their heads to
help pass along the food

Six-hundred-forty-eight spiders
spinning their webs into 
safety nets and parachutes

Tish Turl, Red Wedge (2019)

What I Did with my $600 at the End of the World

People packed in freezer vans,
and a grinning politician hands me $600
says “invest this wisely so you don’t die”
so I bought some ammo and a pistol
and some peanut butter
shot my landlord Ethel in the knees
used her couch for kindling
I’ve got $400
Evictions are illegal but they put my best friend out
I bought a bottle of Skol and a Bic,
we roasted marshmallows over a burning cruiser
and fed toxic smores to the Pigs
I’ve got $380
I invested in three cans of pepper spray
from the army surplus,
passed them out and bought ten more
to watch the masked kids
choke the air 
I’ve got $200
I blew the last on spray paint
gave it out again
we covered camera lenses and walls
with the world we will build
using theirs as fertilizer.

Tish Turl, Locust Review 4 (2020)

The Laundromat Stuck in Time

When I was a kid I made a pocket in my head
and held the family dog inside for a whole week
before dad realized he hadn’t run away.
Dad made me bring Hero back but he was older
and he said I was his favorite, now.

Senior year, I trapped the English teacher 
in a parody of Lord of the Flies
because I hated that book so much
and he didn’t get it, anyway.
I got expelled but it was worth it. 
GEDs are the same thing.

I got a job stocking canned soup at night
with plans to move up to the day shift
but my boss said I was shifty
after that day I came to work
before they’d hired me. 
Two weeks on the job and I got canned
and I’ve been taking SSI rejection letters
ever since.

I was folding underwear when they nuked us
and I could see the end of the world
just before the blast blew the glass in
and I made the last pocket...

Tish Turl, Red Wedge (2019)

We Come in Peace (Stink Ape Ressurection Primer)

“YOUR FUCKING ocean is on fire.” The blob of glowing plasma pleaded in disbelief. 

The panel of thirteen human representatives exchanged hushed glances. One of the humans spoke as the whispers subsided: “It strikes us as suspicious that you’re this concerned with our resources.”

The blob sputtered, unaware that it was able to do so, and turned to his comrades for help. “We don’t-” 

It tried to explain and paused when it considered the ridiculousness of the interaction.

“We don’t even use water.” The engineer blob spoke in a level voice. “We know you need water to survive and it is both on fire and full of microscopic pieces of plastic. We can fix that.”

The panel of humans huddled and furiously whispered. A cameraman panned by, making sure to capture the human deliberations set against a backdrop of completely bewildered glowing plasma blobs.

“Your homes reflect light and heat in dangerously focused areas, creating fire. It’s already so hot here. We can fix this for you, I don’t kn-” 

A man who’d earlier identified himself as a “producer” rushed forward to silence the pleading blob. 

“Stop hushing me. Look, even the stage is on fire.” 

“Cut, cut, they’re being uncooperative. Are the other aliens prepped in the green room?”

Unpaid interns scattered into action. 

“Okay, thank you very much, you’ve been lovely. We’re going to go with the Krexhirutians.” 

“They do want your water.” The blob closest to the producer laughed. “They’re going to boil you all in it.” 

“They’re very good on film.” 

Tish Turl, Locust Review 6 (2022)