wicked alice| fall 2009

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Helen Vitoria


None of us knew what was wrong.
All of us knew nothing was right.
He would sing Elton John songs under the elevated freight rail bridge.
He liked the echo, we knew that, his voice in three, four, five

Rocket Man, Rocket Man, Rocket Man

On occasion, he would sit in a wheelchair under the same bridge,
sing louder,some nights, just screaming

Once a month, he would clean fresh corn, feed it to the
black dog, that paced the chain link fence, corn silk
clung to his hair, his lips.
He exchanged corn, the dog accepted his touch.

Tonight, Freddy sits in the wheelchair
gun in hand, fully loaded, fully cocked,
exchanges bullets left to right,
aiming for all the stars in this night's sky,
all the while we watched, till someone asked

I am no longer afraid of the dark
I am no longer afraid of the dark






Helen Vitoria was born and raised in Greece, she resides and writes in Effort, PA.  She studied Creative Writing for a short time at NYU. Her work appears and is forthcoming in The Dirty Napkin, The Cartier Street Review, PANK, Tiger's Eye Journal and others.  She is currently working on her first full length collection entitled Corn Exchange.