Earth

different times.
different times,
people say.
no one
is having
kids.
the earth
will love us
when we’re
gone.
it hates us
now.
all the shit
we do
to it.
we’re like
that annoying
older brother
always putting
earth
in a headlock,
giving it
a noogie.
or that
strict enforcer:
GET A HAIRCUT!
the earth
will love us
when we’re
gone.
it can grow
lush pastures
of hair
without
interruption.

invisible

i guess
i’m writing
towards
something –
je ne
sais pas.
i used
to know.
writing had
umpf
once.
print
mattered.
now it’s
less than
dust in
the wind –
invisible.
i still
do it
knowing
that it
matters
to me,
hoping
somebody else
too.

Yeh

“weren’t you w/
that one broad?”

“a while back,
yeh.”

“now you’re w/
that other broad?”

“yeh.”

“what happened w/
the old broad?”

“up in the clouds,
i needed someone
in the soil.”

“ah.”

“yeh.”

“you miss
that old broad?”

“nah.”

“she was
a hot piece, tho.”

“it ain’t about
a piece
of anything.”

“you’ve gotten
soft, brah.”

“whatever makes you hard.”

“funny guy.”

“yeh.”

“well good luck
with the
new broad.”

“she ain’t so
new anymore
but thanks.”

“mind if
i take a stab
at the
old broad?”

“prolly stab
your heart out,
but go for it.”

“funny guy.”

“yeh.”

the benefit of being a famous American writer

my wife
and i
attended
hitler’s funeral.
i was a famous
american writer
and we were
the only americans
invited.
supposedly,
hitler
was a fan
of lowercase.
i asked
no more questions
about it.
my wife
and i
were fascinated
by the nazis.
we graciously
accepted
the invitation.
before
the service,
they let people
see hitler
in the casket
privately.
my wife
and i
walked in
followed by
Apprehension.
we loomed
over the casket
for a minute;
he still had
his mustache
intact.

“do you think
he was hung?”

“why would you ask
that?”

“powerful man,
chip on
his shoulder,
all that.”

“i doubt it,
he was short.”

“so am i,
but…”

“babe,
you’re just
out of proportion.”

she smirked
and i did
back.

“you want me
to check?”

i looked over
my shoulder.
Apprehension
had left,
no one else
in sight.

“go for it.”

she unbuckled
his swastika
belt buckle
and peered in.

“micropenis.”

“i knew it!”

we got
out
of there
quickly.

Ken Kakareka’s latest novel is Summer of Irresponsibility (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). His words have appeared or are on their way in numerous rags, including The Gorko Gazette, New Pop Lit, and A Thin Slice of Anxiety. A list of selected publications can be found at kenkakareka.com