One Micro, One Poem | by Kelly Glover


A guy in a Miata is always middle aged. He wears a hat to hide his balding head, the back of his hair grows long so it curls out from under the cap, giving the appearance that there is more hair under there. A bitch in a Camaro lets her mane fly through the t-top. Sunglasses hide her insecurities. A dude in a Miata wants to be sexy and a bitch in a Camaro wants to be tough.

What about the mom in the Odyssey minivan? Her husband abandoned her and the kids, so of course she gets the transport. A dick in a BMW likes to drive fast through women and stoplights. A dick in a BMW fits quite nicely in the Odyssey as needed.

The old man in the beat up Ford pickup has seen it all and done it twice. The granny in the Cadillac doesn’t have time for any of your shit. With a combined speed of 37 miles per hour, these two get nowhere quick.

A rich man in a Landrover switches cars like he changes his socks. This week it’s a Panoz Porsche. The rich lady in a Mercedes drapes her diamond encrusted hand on the steering wheel just right so the sunlight blinds any that look her way. Neither realizes how fortunate they are.

The paramedic in the ambulance races to the rescue. The mortician in a hearse lurks nearby. Out of them all, these are the two worst rides.




Color Spectrum

My purple is violets, beach sunsets and grape soda
Your purple is the swollen bruise of a trauma that refuses to heal

My red is bloody miscarriage remains floating in the toilet
Your red is rosy cheeks on a summer day, candy apples, a glossy lip

My blue is dark–the bottom of the sea, no sight
Your blue is light–the skies in Carolina

My green is my therapy that quickly burns brown
Your green is a snake in the grass, the mold on old bread

My yellow is bile with a side of lemon juice
Your yellow is baby chicks in a field of daffodils

My orange is Doritos, a clockwork, circus peanuts, and Nemo
Your orange is sideswiped traffic cones, Cheetos fingers, and Trump

My pink is breast cancer awareness, flowers, Steven Tyler’s favorite color
Your pink is a hairless rat, pepto bismol puke, a stepped on bubble gum wad

My brown is explosive taco meat diarrhea, a rabid beaver, a fallen tree
Your brown is a beautiful brunette eating chocolate cake with a teddy bear

My black is bitter espresso, endless and deep, a widow
Your black is Sabbath, a good luck cat, voluminous mascara

My white is a wedding gown at a thrift store, snow blanketing a forest, cool whip
Your white is the milky eyes of a corpse, rape semen remnants

What is mine is not your color to wear or share
What is ours is a rainbow of color everywhere



Kelly Glover spent a good portion of her life working in the restaurant industry, where she learned much more about human nature than fruit and vegetable nature. She grew up and resides in Greensboro, North Carolina where she is the supreme leader of 3 children, 2 cats, and 1 failed marriage. Suffering through depression, abandonment, and an incurable autoimmune disease has taught her to find humor in the darkness and from that darkness comes her light. Cliché could be her middle name, but she prefers Louise.



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