I Like The Heat, by Steve Gerson, beer and chaser

It's hot. My asphalt street is melting like the La Brea tar pits. But I'm the dinosaur this time. My bones are old. I'm petrified, not just from ossification but from fear.

How did the dinosaurs feel, I wonder, when faced with extinction?

Did they huddle together for strength? I could do that, I guess, gather my ilk of old buddies, swig bottles of beer with chasers of whiskey to narcotize my demise. "Hey, old man, pass me a Bud. I need numbing."

Did the stegosaurus bow in wingless bird prayer with the velociraptors, forgiving each other's willingness to maim or be maimed? I could do that, I guess, gather my old coworkers, all of whom I fought with for survival against deadlines and corporate expectations, and pray for collaboration. "No, Carl, let's share. You take the PGM account this time. I'll get the next one."

Come on! Who am I kidding? I might be a dinosaur, but I have no desire to pray or gather, to placate or befriend. Kumbaya my ass. The hell with them all. I'll stick to my predatory ways.

I'm going to eat up as much life as I can before the sun broils me to death in its moral equivalent of climate change.

Here's the plan. I'll sharpen my blades, honing my rough edges against life. No more dull me.

"Sir, there's only one chocolate chip cookie left. Could my little girl have it?"

"Nope. I'm on my way out, I mean really on my way out, and I'm taking this cookie with me. She can get one some other time."

"Could you hold the door for me, please? I've got my hands full."

"Nope. My hands are full too, with life's challenges."

Get the picture?

The dinosaurs caved to an asteroid attack, so we're told. They froze, starved, or were blown apart by explosions, debris, and tree shrapnel.

I might be facing extinction, the dying of the light, but I'm not going to cower in a corner, sniveling, shivering, shaking in despair, pleading, “Woe is me,” like Hezekiah begging for more years to his life (Look it up.  2 Kings 20:1-11).

I've got both fists raised. I'm ready for a fight. I like the heat.

About the author

Steve Gerson writes poetry and flash about life's dissonance. He has published in many journals plus his six chapbooks: Once Planed Straight; Viral; And the Land Dreams Darkly; The 13th Floor; What Is Isn’t; and There Is a Season

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