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Short stories

OZ ON THE MOON

     Lee Harvey Oswald is walking over the moon, wondering if the Holocaust really happened. Jimmy Hoffa happens by in a rocket ship exceeding the speed of light. Snatches Oswald like a brass ring. Tries to interest the lone nut in hitting Bobbie.

     Lee says he is busy that night. Gonna catch a flick with this Russian babe in Havana. Maybe then drinks. After that – who knows?

     Hoffa snorts in supraluminal disgust. Slows the merry-go-round. Dumps the youngster off on Charon.

     Lee pays the fare to Pluto. Teleports down an obelisk up through a toilet in the men’s room of a gay bar in the French Quarter. Where he bumps into J. Edgar Hoover adjusting his nylons. 

     Lee excuses himself, queasy with warp-lag. Throws up in the sink. Hoover pats him on the back. Asks if maybe a kid who shows so much guts wouldn’t maybe like parachuting into Cuba to assassinate Castro?

     Oswald spits one last chunk at the rusty drain. Wipes his mouth. Sneers up into the mirror at the pig behind his back that murder is not exactly his idea of fair play.

     Hoover fiddles with a bra strap. A signal to the agent crammed into the cupboard under the sink to start a file on this suspected bi-sexual Soviet mole.

     Oz exits the john. Is waiting at the bar for his Cuba Libre, when undercover NOPD detectives in Hemingway drag arrest him for mopery. Drag him out into the alley. Where Werner von Braun, working hand in hand with Dr. Mengele, using V-2 technology combined with Nazi medicine, vacuum the little goof back to the moon.

     He hobbles over, hands cuffed behind back, to the Tranquility Base flag. Kicks despondently at the trash around the pole.

     The Lone Nut, America’s most unknown patriotic patsy, burns to salute Old Gory. Drops to his knees. Dies of a broken heart, hallucinating Marilyn singing Happy Birthday to Jack Ruby. 

     He’s up there tonight, is Oz. You can glimpse him yourself, even through a cheap spyglass, crumpled in the dust, sobbing his heart out for the bullshit that is America. One nation, named after a wop, under surveillance, founded on rape, slavery, paranoia and the Amway.       

Willie Smith

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