California
it’s always sunny
in California
and that’s the problem
when it’s not early june
in California
it’s late september
the calendar
in California
contains four meager months
in California
winter’s a commercial break
between torrential fires
blackening hillsides like burnt toast
and
the latest drought
when i forget what a strip mall
looks like
i go back
to California
when i forget what smog looks like
i go back
to California
when i forget what murky grey tap water tastes like
i go back
to California
when i miss a good old fashioned traffic jam
i go back
to California
when i want to bathe in sunblock
and squint all day
like a lizard on the sidewalk
i go back
to California
when i miss good Mexican food
(which is all the time)
or my family
(which is all the time)
i count the months until i can
go back
to California
My Landlord’s Landlord
I’d like to be my landlord’s landlord.
I’d like to pretend to be busy
When they call me to fix the heater,
Like our landlord did to us—in December.
When their toilet leaks, I’d like to make them
Wait a week, like they did to us—today.
I’d like to make them feel
The way they make us feel.
Even for an hour.
It would be incredibly rewarding
To watch them squirm
Seattle writer Jason M. Thornberry’s work appears in The Los Angeles Review of Books, Entropy, ALAN Review, Soundings East, Broadkill Review¸ and elsewhere. His work examines family, disability, and social justice. An MFA candidate at Chapman University, Jason taught creative writing at Seattle Pacific University. He reads poetry for TAB.