Least of All My Own by John Martino

I sat there counting while the whore babbled on. Snapping taut each paper skin. Opening the ones folded up like grade school love notes. Ironing out the crumpled heads of dead presidents with the butt of my palm. Hamiltons, mostly. And Honest Abe. Not enough Jackson. When I hit old Wooden Teeth, once, twice, three times a charm, I look up. See not a face, but a net of broken creases. Cosmic dust lining the cracks. One dim yellow bulb dangling from a dark cord. And that large red mouth going on and on about the futility of her life.

Like I gave a dime about her life.

Or anyone’s.

Least of all my own.

John Martino is a writer and educator residing in Hong Kong. His creative work can be found at North Dakota Quarterly, Another Chicago Magazine, The Southern Quill, and J Journal, among others. He is the Executive Editor at Home Planet News (homeplanetnews.com).

Photo courtesy of John Martino