Mr. Tap-Tap by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers / Masticadores

When you see someone for long enough you get used to them and then you start noticing patterns in their behavior he was their teacher in creative writing weird guy in his late thirties going bald bespectacled pedo mustache scrawny body always wearing dark suits, a bit oversized He sat at his desk and watched the students and the students watched him Why does he always do that? they eventually asked. Why does he always tap his foot when talking to some girl but never when he talks to boys? He would appoint a female student to present her homework or some project or something and stand her up and while she spoke he would stare at her and tap his foot and the tapping would begin light and would grow in intensity strange guy tap-tap-tap ta-rap-tap-tap went his foot as the girls talked "I heard he's divorced," said one…

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superstitious woman

In the morning
she jerked him off
and had him
cum in the cups of her
bra and then
he watched as she put it
on and went about the
rest of her day like
that

She worked as an
elementary school teacher

believed in the
horoscope

and witchcraft

and aliens

and demons

and told the students in
her class that
her dead husband reincarnated into
her dog and every morning
she took his seed to
hold in her bosom for good luck

It definitely worked
because she got a raise in
the next few weeks


a blunt weapon

There was a time when he’d
fear nothing more
than the bluntness of the
empty bottle

his torment
his nightmare, his hell

The bottle would be
all right as long as it stayed full
It was like Lucifer before the fall

Oh, but once it emptied
then it would change completely
Then he’d see father’s grip
reverse on its neck
and turn it into a blunt weapon
that delivered its fair share
of bruises and scabs on the scalp

It never broke
like in the movies
but it surely hit harder than wood

But in the end
after all those years of standing
in its greenish shadow
he found himself thanking the bottle

It’s simple
What you don’t pick up
you don’t end up holding

He never touched a beer in his life

and certainly didn’t use
the bottle as a blunt weapon
against anybody

not even against his own father
as revenge

The cleaver was far
more effective



The Boy Who Ate Flowers by Bogdan Dragos

He ate flowers.   this mentally challenged boy from the countryside I used to watch him in the fields when I visited my grandparents as a kid He was like an exotic thing a wild beast chasing static pray They had no chance, the flowers he would assault them with a killer’s smile, frothing, and […]

The Boy Who Ate Flowers by Bogdan Dragos

Love letter by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers / Masticadores

 Usually it was after the second pack of smokes that inspiration came into his soul but today it came after the second cigarette   And when inspiration hit he'd grab the paper and pen and write letters old style   He was a romantic   My love, he wrote, this is the 272nd letter I write you, and its subject will be the idea of impossibility. I think impossibility is highly subjective, my love. I for one can climb Mount Everest in my shorts if I want to, but one thing I'll never ever do is get over you. I dream you every night. Every. Damn. Night. And I wake up and grab the dress you left behind and I wrap its strap around my penis like one of those rubber rings meant to make you last super long. I've been doing it for… a long time, love. Believe me…

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a distracted dreamer

what else to do when
the rain falls so heavy
against the window
outside?
 
Get melancholic
get poetic
have a drink
have another
 
close and then lock the door
to your room
and don't listen to
the voices coming
from outside
They want to distract you
They don't want you
to be successful
and make it in
life
 
They're all haters
 
He covered his ears
and squinted his eyes at the
computer screen
doing his best to block out
the negativity that came
from beyond the door
 
“I can't get up!” the voice
croaked. “Come help me. I can't
get up.” And then with
a cry, “Please!”
 
“Shut the fuck up, grandma!
I'm trying to
write in here. Jesus Christ, I'm
trying to make
it big, don't you understand?
For fuck's sake now.”
 
He had also sent a manuscript
to a potential
publisher and was waiting for
a reply. It's been
two days already 


Interview with Author and Poet Bogdan Dragos

The Chamber Magazine

Bogdan Dragos photo

Biography:

I was born in 1992 in Romania and had a happy childhood until I went to school. I never had an answer to the question “What would you like to become when you grow up?” and still don’t. But I was lucky enough, after college, to land a job as a dispatcher at a gambling company. There, I spend 12 hours alone in the office (day and night shifts) supervising casinos through CCTV cameras. I like to think I learned a lot about humanity from this. But I also learned a lot about myself. It’s also where I started writing.biog

What is your greatest accomplishment as a writer so far?
That’ll be the publication of my poetry chapbook, “Pour The Whiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Fire”. In August 2020 I found myself with quite a bunch of poems and no audience, so I started submitting a…

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Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/01/21

(\____/)
( ͡ ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡ ͡°)
\╭☞ \╭☞Big thanks for the feature!

Cajun Mutt Press

a dead body in the room

there was a dead body in the room

Had to be

Else where did the smell
come from?

Every time he’d turn around to catch
a ghost or a zombie
from the corner of his eyes the smell
would slap him

A smell of death

He decided he’d look around for the
dead body
but later

He didn’t have the energy now
or the disposition
or anything

He only wanted to sleep
some more
He just woke up and needed a good
nap to recover

Perhaps there were times when it
didn’t make sense
but now, today, nothing made more
sense that this

All you need is a healthy
dose of chronic depression and it makes
sense

Just like not cleaning the room
and not taking a shower
in a time longer than memory can be
bothered to remember

So he paced back to…

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king who would go down with honor

he had no shoes
and you could hardly call
his shirt a shirt
but he
sat between those two
trash cans like some king
on his throne
  
holding to a stick
like a scepter
  
He drank from an old
rusty can of
beans
but held it like some golden
goblet
  
Clearly he lost the
ability to
taste because in the can
he mixed all he could
find in the trash
  
Beer with vodka
with tequila with wine
and acetone
and rubbing alcohol
  
He had a fearsome guardian
about him
A white dog who constantly
licked his vomit from
the ground
  
It looked black
and spongy
like coffee grounds
  
Some passersby offered to help him
and he refused
  
This was a king who
would go down with honor
after he lost
his kingdom


they are legend

the little girl was scared
at first
but now she was terrified
and about to have
a panic attack

He kept her tight
in his arms and covered her
ears and
told her to calm down
and that everything will
be all right

It was 02:24 AM and the
knocks in
the door and all around
the walls and windows
still carried on

And there were howls
coming from
outside and
curses and a constant sound
of nails scratching
on wood

“Daddy, I’m scared! I’m…”

“I know, dear, I know. But
you have to
calm down. Remember to focus
on your breathing like I told you.
Deep, deep breaths, okay? Deep. In
and out. I promise you,
tomorrow everything’s gonna
be fine. I swear.”

“Is it zombies?” asked the
little girl.

“No, dear. It’s something else.”

“What’s it called?”

“An ex-girlfriend, dear.”

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