Each day is a new day, although I’m not sure whether I’m breaking it in, or wearing it out. On
the way to work, I like to keep both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road. That way, I’m
symmetrical. All week, I’ve been trying to forget my troubles by mimicking my imposter
syndrome. A simulacrum is the highest form of flattery, only taller. Yesterday, my boss warned me about the menace of industrial espionage. Evidently, it’s like military intelligence without a uniform. Like the Giza pyramids, every twenty-four hours I grow one day older. Going nowhere, the Pharaoh's marching army is forever locked in stone. I wonder, is it time for me to quit my job?
All Rights. Brad Rose.
Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles, and lives in Boston. He is the author of five collections of poetry and flash fiction: Pink X-Ray, de/tonations, Momentary Turbulence, No. Wait. I Can Explain, and the forthcoming, WordinEdgeWise. Six times nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and three times nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology, Brad’s poetry and fiction have appeared in, The Los Angeles Times, The American Journal of Poetry, New York Quarterly, Puerto del Sol, Clockhouse, Folio, Cloudbank, Baltimore Review, 45th Parallel, Best Microfiction 2019, Lunch Ticket,Sequestrum, Cultural Daily, and other publications. His website is www.bradrosepoetry.com His blog is https://bradrosepoetry.com/blog/
