Contact the Author: rdlbarton@netscape.net

Contact The Author: rdlbarton@netscape.net

Ron. Lavalette's work has appeared in these fine publications:



Tuesday, October 18, 2016

A New Green

The Drabble (Online) October 2016


He hears on the news that they’ve discovered a new shade of green.

He can’t remember, later, whether the newscaster said “discovered” or “invented,” but he wonders how such a thing is possible, and what such a color would be called.

Maybe it’s puked-up-broccoli-or-split-pea-soup green or first-shoots-of-early-tomato-plant green.

Maybe it’s last-gasp-of-the-tamarack-in-autumn green, or green-only-a-dying-parrot-can-see green.

He looks around him to see if he can spot it.

He hopes it’s black-rock-that-only-turns-green-in-the-early-April-rain green because, newly discovered or not, that’s always been his favorite.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Interstates

The Drabble (Online) October 2016



The crow, apparently ravenous
for the unrecognizable splat of
highway carrion, does not budge
from its feast, despite the near
passage of a barreling fourteen-wheeler
in the adjacent lane. The truck’s
driver barely notices the banquet
as he flashes by, his mind
on his destination, his eyes scanning
for radar cops or construction cones.
The truck itself, intent on only its task of
hauling weight and displacing the air
it moves through, has no sentience;
cares neither for the beast it carries
nor the beasts it passes. It’s the middle
of June, at last, and everything beside
the highway’s grey is green.

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

Killing That Bitch Again

Your One Phone Call (Online) October 2016

Last night in the arcane landscape
of darkness, while my actual body
remained in the safe soft confines
of headboard and fitted sheet,
I drove some wild dirt back road
at 80, dust everywhere, radio loud


her beside me on hot red leather
all at once terrible and terrifying.
I knew it would be her again.
I couldn’t see her face but I knew,
when we found ourselves naked,
later, the musty room, sun-slatted,


it would be her again, urging me
to pay the voodoo priestess, drink
deep from the proffered chalice,
let the ravens circle in and dive,
dive. I knew it would be her again.
When I raised the knife, I knew.