An Automatic Cajachina – Michael Díaz Feito
It’s the best place to roll used bodies
a few fingers deep in guano: a grass
pit on sub-deck 45-I as in eye-guana.
Shush. Shut the eyes, or screens. Set
soul-shed units to tumble, puissantly.
But paths do diverge. Sometimes on
some casts, if you bless the cubilete
with dewy spirit, cruel joy’s put out.
So once I was run along accordingly,
misled by a caprice of my networked
feet, and routed to aisle 45-I, instead:
kitchenwares, where making the most
of bad script, I opened a box on sale,
and I saw a black-bristled pig’s head,
alive but bodiless, heavily, hoarsely
sighing, suffering a lopped life, Petri
printed and dished. Its screaming as
shoppers tore meat to taste the worth
hurt me. But I didn’t help, or stop it,
because I can’t afford to help or stop.
Michael Díaz Feito is a Cuban-American writer from Miami, Florida. His recent work has appeared in Big Echo: Critical SF, The Operating System, and Strange Horizons. You can find more of Michael’s work at michaeldiazfeito.com and follow him on Twitter @diazmikediaz.