I suffer from radiator illness, and now I cough at night. Phlegm sings descant in the lungs. The bloom in my adrenal iris slot has faded. I want to be healed, get back on the horse so to speak. Sit high on the stud, be a stallion’s rider. When I advertised my need, the bus driver sold me a home remedy not available in any convenience. I bought a sonar distiller off the internet to brew his potion. Mixed in flowers, sugar, duck eggs. Added a raisin, five dollars and railroad oil. I briskly stirred in heat, following every instruction to the megapixel. The tonic turned out better than the pic — it bubbles in radial lines. But I have an infection, am not tranquil enough to remove the radiator cap (my trembling fingers). Please, will you help me?
Sandi Sartorelli
Sandi Sartorelli was born in the Hutt Valley of New Zealand and has lived there ever since. She has recently completed a degree in creative writing with the Whitireia Creative Writing Programme. Some of her work has appeared in 4th Floor, Blackmail Press, Conversations Across Borders, Eye to the Telescope, Poems in the Waiting Room, The Mozzie, and Valley Micropress.
She is also known as Abra Cadabra.
