http://slow.writerscafe.org/SMcIlhon The original writings of author SMcIlhon en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776072698 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15  There was a computer game we'd play about building civilizations.  I playedon a computer they'd laugh at.  Too slow.I'd lose.  One fire would startand another as I put out the first.The winds of tornadoes wouldn't help.There weren't enough fire trucks.There wasn'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/803481/  The wheelchair lift broke. The girl in the wheelchair was securely fastened - butbackwards. She faced her peers and prayed. Time was dying. Slowly. A longline of walkers stood. Waiting. The awkwardness of a spilled glass or a fart.Her fault. She broke the lift. She felt. She wait.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/803479/ Skin Deep She holdsthe cold glass to her faceand itscondensation kisses her cheeksremindingher she’s still alive.  She wondersinto thevanity mirror but is met with a coldstare strongenough tobreak glass or heartsorsouls.   .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/803475/  When itcomes to ugliness or theself-decaying alcoholic,I’m wellschooled.  I’ve painted pictures of bleak, ofdespair,  of insertyour own pitiful remembranceof what it’slike to hate, and always with theelaborate color sche.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/803473/ The dirty smells of homeless on the streetsgive me a weary sense of human hope.They kick beer cans and flick butts at their feetwith disregard, for cleanliness to cope.The business men nearby just shake their headspretending not to see their fellow man.With stomach’s fu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/803471/  He called it oxycottonand I took it.  Nothing happened,at first, and the Jameson bottle grew more green with lessof its brown contents The bar was actually a pub -or a bar dressed up like one.European flags hung in the ceiling but now low enough to cover upthe s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/710606/  He walks by his favorite restaurantbut it's too busyso he keeps on walking.His awkward blue suit probablyprovides little protection from the cold,let alone ridicule, but he wears it proudly,like a super hero wears his cape.He's hungrybut waits two hoursfor the rush to die downand other, more.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/710599/ It's dark and you're runningfrom something you can't see. You run through nice neighborhoods and inprint their manicured lawnswith your size 11 shoe.  The woods nearby prove pricklybut you continue through the thorns. After pulling the teeth out of your now bar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/562768/ 　Who Are They? They lie to themselves and smile, pretending to be happy with their driveway full of fancy tire accessories. Inside their house, the bare walls are covered with tasteful art; the ground holds up showroom furniture; the windows reflect the br.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/557926/  She calls youmuch as your mother did before her wanting something.You take her toa patio bar with white wine and red walls, knowing her deadly lips will meet forthcoming emptinessin your wallet.She smiles as the waitress makes another pass. She unbu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/552158/  I entered an empty house and locked my bedroom door, much like I would when I was ten.  The lightlessness of my own comfy quarters somehow provided warmth when everyone else gave me the chills.  My new parents stormed into the room in a much similar fashin to how my old parent.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/548569/  Sweat drips downhis battered forehead and blood fills the sky.With the engine still turning,now burning,it must be time to run.His bare feet trample broken CDs, while dreams of safety secure the mind.Sounds of sirens,of horror, become his new life soundtrackas .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/548470/  You're in the wrong neighborhoodand completely lost.You're trying desperatelyto remember a placewhere you feel safe.The street signs are missingand corners are filledwith drug dealersand doers.Your fancy shirt shines brightlike a bullseye.If you walked on their sideof.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/548461/ How dumb I must have lookedin my plaid shirt and blue jeanswalking to the door of a partyI had no right to enter.The lions den laughed,into their plastic cups of cheapwatered-down beer,and pointed with precision.Wanna-be grownups grew whiskered beards and drankwhiskey in their silent attemptto b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/491828/  The dim bar light crystallizes your former friendsas you fiddle with the phone in your front right pocket.Your smile fools no one, nor does it remove you from your foul mood.  Perhaps you've outgrown them.  Perhaps theyare beneath you.  The mirrors reflect differentl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/480997/ I never really put much thoughtto the expression that relatessomething you'd like tobeing "right up your alley."I wish now she'd never triedto suggest I fill an hourof my dreadful winter withanother thin-pulsed social scene.So I left her for awhile,as she went on ab.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/463940/ As a kid, I would drawpictures of houses with cloudsfloating over and birdsin the sky. As a young man,I would draw palm treeslinked togetherwith hammocks. Now, as an older man,I draw deathand his spear is largerthan those trees ever were. T.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/447948/ I find myself walkingdown the same twisted roads, just as a boxeroften finds himself bloody.I go roundand round, taking punchesand eating my wordswith a smile.This fight endspredictably, witha mandown.With winningbeing equal to a fractionof their own demise,most p.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/445279/ I couldn't be anymoreremoved from someonemost peoplenever part from. The phone ringsand burns a small holein my pocketas I relunctantly refrainfrom continued mental pain. A time will come,as the clock continues to spin, where the burnwon't have to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/442254/ She smiles and seems to be filledwith abundant energy and jubilance.She laughs and you assume she knows the difference between love and lies.The coffee stain on your shirt is a reminder that the joke is usually on you.You pay the tab and smile, thanking your waitress and thinking you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/439749/ The quiet of an afternoonlull at your favorite sandwich shopis silenced by the rushof summertime appetites. You've always thought thatroutine is a diseasegiven to us by the makersof TV dinners. But still your alarm clock rings the same time every morning;the mi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/437180/ A strong breezecatches the curtainsof my 22nd floorhotel-room window. The beach, removedfrom a recent rain,sits still and mostlyuninhabited. I'm afraid to approachthe ledge, afraidI might adhere tothe temptations ofthe moon. The scotch I .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/437106/ Rain clouds threaten an endbefore any ascensioncan take place.The frightened walk -like the one you tookevery first day of school; the walkfilled with wide-eyes bearingdown on you; the walkyou often revisit -is interrupted bya fearful but polite tapon the shoulder.Per.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/425650/      "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.  It's been one week since my last confession."      "What is your name, Son?"  His robotic tone reminds me that our conversation is impersonal.    .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/418771/ Yellow plastic panelsencase the houseand bleedthrough new white oneslike a bright undershirt.The brown benchout front restson an island of mulch,begging for purpose.A clean-cut lawnconfounds judgment, croppedclose to convincewatchmen and womeninto believing wealthhas been.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/418758/ Waiting for the bus,in the rain,I drown. As the gray clouds to my leftmove over the white to my right,meditation on frustrationturns it into fear. I'm afraidI'll never get where I wantto go.  Afraidif I do, I may not likethe line's end.&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/418757/       I’m in love with a b***h of a girl.  It's not the kind of trouble that comes and goes, but the kind that remains - like the bully who buried you in middle-school and built his bankroll with your lunch money.  You resent the repeated theft, but yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/418747/     I stirred my vodka tonic as she engaged others at my neighborhood bar.  The crowd was usually pretentious but the scotch and beer selection was always too good to pass up.  On this night, I drank vodka so as not to remind me of last night's scotch.  The ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/418080/ This wasn't a partyI was invited to.  Not a cityI could safely wander throughwithout feelingestranged.The forth cabbie I tried,the first I could understand,picked me up from the darkcorner of 54thand forever.Each street we passedwas less recognizablethan the last.&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/417583/ Remote Holding I used to spend nights on the couch,while other kids were surfingthe tangible channels of life, discoveryand entertainment. During spring break,I watched them treatchocolate sauce like wallpaperand alcohol like chocolate sauceon MTV. Most morni.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/408910/ Stairs of Lustful ReckoningMy first experience with lovewas behind the closed doors ofmy former best friend’s girlfriend’smother’s house.Shot glasses, fluorescentand empty, littered the antique coffee table with sweatfrom their former contents.From that day forward,Bacardi 151 woul.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/408904/ SeparationThe hop over herneighbor's fence found mecommitted.  Walking pasttheir blinded windowsassured me no one was home.In the grassless corner I satand waited.The sun beat down on meas a runner beats his legs,but I was already beaten.The cracks through her neighbor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/408903/  Twelve Years and a Ten-Foot FallThe fall, I no longer remember.  Not one still image remains in brain from the actual act.  Upon hitting the ground, I awoke to colors; the red and yellow of Ronald McDonald's house - because it was.  Pain flooded everything.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/406668/  Last Night's Perfume The white light peeks through the blindscatching her only,missing the shredded gray comforterthat keeps us close,missing me entirely,as if solely to illuminateher seamless back.How beautiful an object can befrom afar. Her body rests on the bed,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/406652/ WeThe sun pierced the cloudsand the trees, which coveredeverything.  The woodsso dense, mid-summerfelt like early spring.The wind whippedand time blew by, butnot like we didn’t notice.Streaks of pink and dark-redran down my leg like runsin panty hose. We ranthr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/406640/ AstrayYou find yourselfwalking through narrow alleyswhere footsteps slap the groundin rhythm with your quickbeating heart.Looking upyou see darkness butcan’t be sure whattime it is.A view from the skywould join these streetstogether, like the mercury mazetoys you .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SMcIlhon/406631/