My girlfriend and I watched ‘The Truman Show’ half-plastered on Connemara whiskey and asked the question about Truman’s wife, Meryl Burbank/Hannah: she was a corporate sex worker, right? Was that legally stipulated?
yes she was, and yes they wrote it in the contract: ‘Hazardous Duties, Performed’
this wild reality stemmed from dangerous laughter in a lawless boardroom.
to Veronica, a PA outside on her first day,
it sounded like her neighbour’s 2AM television
coming through the wall
Our cat twisted herself into an art installation, her coma uninterrupted, her paws aloft and twitching under the weight of the night sky. She was young and needed bigger dinners every day. The whiskey was tapped. Our slurring minds fixated on how to replace it.
the moon wasn’t right, and sleep was a non-starter
she missed how her mother used to pick her clothes and leave them
folded on the bed’s bottom left corner
just at the edge
I wondered where the cat-food/human-drink money would come from—how the cost of things perverted their joy. Worries of a swelling sobriety. Then, we found a stowaway—an old bottle of fortified wine shying behind the flour. The storm had passed.
she returned to Seahaven, seeking closure
but the wound
was having none of it
Jake McAuliffe is a cancer researcher from Cork, Ireland. He has also been published in perhappened mag. Follow his Twitter @JakeMcAwful — or don’t, that’s okay too.