UPDATED WITH WINNER: LitReactor's Flash Fiction Smackdown: April (and POETRY) Edition

Flash fiction: A style of fictional literature marked by extreme brevity.
Flash poetry: A style of poetry we are making up for the purpose of turning our fiction contest into a poetry contest in honor of Poetry Month!
Welcome to LitReactor's Flash Fiction Smackdown, a monthly bout of writing prowess. For this edition, we are going to alter the rules in honor of Poetry Month!
How It Works
We give you inspiration in the form of a poem and a prompt with a specific set of parameters. You write a short poem using the inspiration and prompt we gave you. Put your entry in the comments section. One winner will be picked and awarded a prize.
The Rules
- 28 words is the limit. (You can write less, but you can't write more.)
- It has to be a poem.
- Give it a title (not included in the word count, but keep it under 10 words).
- We're not exactly shy, but let's stay away from senseless racism or violence.
- One entry per person.
- Editing your entry after you submit it is permitted.
- We'll pick a winner on the last day of the month.
- LitReactor staffers can't win, but are encouraged to participate.
- All poems submitted on or before April 29 will be considered. We'll run the winner on April 30.
This Month's Prize
A copy of Monica Drake's new novel, The Stud Book. If you aren't familiar with this amazing author (you should be—she's great!), she's a member of Chuck Palahniuk's amazing writing group in Portland along with Cheryl Strayed, Chelsea Cain, and LitReactor Instructor Suzy Vitello. Here's what Monica has to say about herself:
I have an MFA from the University of Arizona and teach at the Pacific Northwest College of Art. My debut Novel, Clown Girl, is published by the amazing indie press, Hawthorne Books, and has won an Eric Hoffer Award as well as an IPPY. It’s been translated into Italian, and recently optioned for film by the brilliant Kristen Wiig (SNL, Bridesmaids).
Her new book comes out this month! Here's a synopsis from Amazon.com:
In the hip haven of Portland, Oregon, a pack of unsteady but loyal friends asks what it means to bring babies into an already crowded world.
Sarah studies animal behavior at the zoo. She’s well versed in the mating habits of captive animals, and at the same time she’s desperate to mate, to create sweet little offspring of her own. Georgie is busy with a newborn, while her husband, Humble, finds solace in bourbon and televised violence. Dulcet makes a living stripping down in high school gyms to sell the beauty of sex-ed. Nyla is out to save the world while having trouble saving her own teen daughter, who has discovered the world of drugs and the occult. As these friends and others navigate a space between freedom and intimacy, they realize the families they forge through shared experience are as important as those inherited through birth.
A smart, edgy and poignantly funny exploration of the complexities of what parenthood means today, Monica Drake's second novel demonstrates that when it comes to babies, we can learn a lot by considering our place in the animal kingdom.
Your Inspiration
This is a classic poem by Doctor/Poet William Carlos Williams.
"This Is Just To Say"
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the iceboxand which
you were probably
saving
for breakfastForgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
Your Prompt
Using William Carlos William's poem as a prompt, write a poem of 28 words (like his) that apologizes for something you are (or the speaker of the poem is) not actually sorry about.
Now get writing!
And the winner is...artistic addict
While there were fewer entries than usual this month, the quality of the entries was very high. I had a very hard time picking just one.
That said, I enjoyed artistic addict's dark riff on the original poem, and loved that he even preserved the formatting and capitalization. Plus, it made me laugh. Well done!
There're Two Ways To Serve Man, My Dear Cheating Wife
I have eaten
your chum
that was in
our icebox
and whom
you were probably
serving
for breakfast
Forgive me
he was delicious
so sweet
you would know
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To leave a comment
Comments
There're Two Ways To Serve Man, My Dear Cheating Wife
I have eaten
your chum
that was in
our icebox
and whom
you were probably
serving
for breakfast
Forgive me
he was delicious
so sweet
you would know
Tickle Fight
I tickled you until you peed
my love.
Now we’re damp
and smell like moldy cheese.
I should apologize,
but I’m not sorry.
I live for your laugh.
Killer Arrest
Fell back
Without crack
In my morality
Mean city
Oriented me:
'A killer,
You can be'
Now I see
Handcuffs, merciless cops,
My middle fingers to the tops
I'm Sorry for This Poem
I'm not good
at poetry
I don't get the beat,
or rhythm,
and for my next feat,
I can't rhyme
anything
with rhythm
But you still read it.
Cheeky
I pointed
you turned
I leaned
My lips
meet
your cheek
trickery
and stolen kisses
I'll miss
these days
of innocent youth
Let me kiss you
an apology
I couldn't figure out how to bloody erase the double of my entry, so I resigned to just editing it instead. Sorry for the clutter folks.
Bulbophyllum nocturnum
In your shoulders,
hunched
against the brunt
of revelation,
your hopes
reduct to fear:
but mother,
an orchid
night-blooming still blooms
and love will live, uncovered.
untitled
The words came out
as they are want to
without thought
holding truth
like those of youth
immaculate.
The atonement
that came next
held not the
same standard.
The Death
The body fell back off the knife
Slowly slumping, draining life
I went to leave but got pulled back
By the blood slowly turning black
"Forgive Me"
Forgive me
For the words
You inspired in me
I drank them
From the fountain
Of your lips
I stole them
From the feelings
You bestowed upon me
I’m delighted
you’ve finished screaming
at your wife
just as
my cold coffee-ashtray
is brimming.
This three-legged table
is notoriously shaky.
Your cream-colored pants,
exquisite.
“I am so sorry.”
on the road to damascus
Eli! Lama sabachthani?
I scream at passersby
Ignoring my plea
For silver.
This gathers attention
Some of them
Even feel pity
They refuse to pay
From spite
Pharisees!
The Dim Wife
The liberty
Of dimming the
Gaslight has been
Taken care of
Ignore the smell…
It is merely
A product of
Psycho-Torture
Of finding ants
In my sugar
Dinner Bell
Hurry, we’re going to Red Lobster
Mom said
Bathroom door open
Tub near flooded
Ass under faucet
Pink tinted skin
Sorry mom, coming soon
and then I did
In this house
Now silent,
Your spirit lingers;
Loud, drunken rage.
Apologies, I too
Remain quiet
As the man
With the badge inquires,
"Ma'am, where is your husband?"
If someone doesn't shut up in the woods...
Contrition is not
my default setting
so excuse any
belated message.
I'm deeply sorry that
the coffee's cold;
but anything else
would merely be noise.
Vapid.
Frothy.
Noise.
I am sorry
for taking
from you
What wasn’t mine
to take
I was
out of place
But you
shouldn’t have
dressed
That way
Awesome! I took a risk and was hoping parodying the poem like that would come off more clever than lazy. I'm very happy to have finally won one of these, and against such talented competition no less. Thanks a ton!
Awesome! I took a risk and was hoping parodying the poem like that would come off more clever than lazy. I'm very happy to have finally won one of these, and against such talented competition no less. Thanks a ton!
Therapist said it would take me out of this world...
Strong hands, hovering breath, moist lips, and two tiny daggers resting near my jaw...a quick stab and sweet nectar oozes down my neck...
I arrive at home to my bachelor pad — just me. But I’m already at home, facing me opening the door; I’m holding a knife.