To Get Her © 2007
by Jason L. Huskey
She talked to the dead,
five words at a time,
until the cruel sun left
no more words to say.
She hated most of them,
complainers and whiners and sinners,
tortured voices coming over the
Victrola, every blip a curse.
Every other night, Satan spoke.
Just some undead pranksters lowering
their voices through the realms,
trying to make her stop.
She talked the dead forward,
leading them to their happiness
beyond this world, which is
why she had to die.
Her business stripped the undead
of friendships and new romances,
strings of second deaths tearing
families apart, until finally enough .
A few banded together, resisting
her calls for the light--
just couldn't let her keep
killing the dead; so they
taught the psychic a lesson.
She talked to the dead,
and two replied in kind:
the first answering her questions,
To Get Her, New Stanza, Page 2
a second speaking hushed abstractions
letting her mind build its
hell. abandoned. helpless. heartbreaking. responsible.
Repeatedly for five weeks, buzzwords
lonely. slipping through the rejection.
guilty. ancient horn, driving hopeless.
weak. this pain hideous. suicide.
through her skull, just waiting
for her accountability. hurting. alone.
Overcoming her subconscious, forcing her
insane until her miserable life
ended, the needle skipping twice.