Pepperoni

AI-generated image

by Jenny Morelli

It happened when I was at school, so I’ll never know the whole story, but when I arrived home that day, Dad’s bedroom was vomiting clothes and shoes.

Afraid to move from the doorway, one foot outside, the other inside, I called for Mom and an old shoe responded when it flew from the room.

"Up here!" it said in a voice like Mom’s, and so, I ventured up those steps, carefully navigating the clothes-strewn landmines, and when I peeked inside a room that had been deadbolted for years, there was Mom, a tornado of arms flinging Dad’s stuff.

She paused when she saw me, my face an obvious question mark, then blew a lock of frizzy hair from her face and with a victorious grin, announced, "I threw out his goddamn pepperoni."

I felt my eyes grow wide.

I hissed for Mom to hush, to lower her voice, to not be so loud.

I backed into the hallway. Scanned everything I could searching for the storm that was Dad, but he was nowhere.

"He’s gone," Mom confirmed. "Now help me throw out his shit."

And with a smile, I caught the snowman tie she hurled at me and hesitated before ripping it at the seams. He never liked any of the gifts I got him.

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Jenny Morelli is a NJ high school English teacher who lives with her husband, cat, and myriad yard pets. She seeks inspiration in everything around her. She’s published in several literary magazines including Red Rose Thorns, Spillwords, Scars tv. This is her fourth poetry chapbook with Bottlecap Press. Check out her website for more: JennyMorelliWrites.com