This story is part of Loren and B.’s Shared Storytelling: Six Birds.
Stokes awoke that morning, which meant he was alive—as far as he could tell. He still suspected the Cubans at Poco Burrito of being a front for Castro’s international revolutionary army, but now he knew they didn’t poison his bean dip last night. Perhaps they don’t suspect him, or perhaps they made a mistake and poisoned someone else. He could check the files for everyone he photographed using the micro-cameras in his ear studs.
“But there are bigger fish to batter,” he muttered.
“Water. Hot,” he said as he stepped into the shower. No water came until he turned the knobs by hand. One day, he thought, the bathroom will be fully automated.
Over his coffee and freezer waffles, the news feeds screamed of possible threats and leads. Spring break threatened by vigilante wildlife in Bull Moose, Maine. Japanese crime boss eludes Iraqi police by wearing a burka. Apple’s new iPork could inspire a wave of high tech breakfast food designed to spy on us.
Sigh.
Continue reading Eagle Eye Pigeon: Secret Agent



This year’s National Poetry Month promotional art quotes from this poem.