wake by Tara Isabel Zambrano

You are consumed by your television,
each cell a pixel, bright red,
blue or green before it burns,
turns into an annoying dark spot.
You are the main course on the leather
recliner plate with chips and beer
on the side, their crust peeling
your skin, leaving a fragment
of brain for Facebook and Twitter.
You wake up dead – buried under layers
of transplanted liver that speaks
to your cellular past about a new
drug that can burn fat like a nuclear
power plant and you see yourself –
lean and strong holding a baseball
bat, your sneakers a new discovery of
corporate America. You check your phone
while no one comes to collect
your remains. There are no messages
except a reminder to download a new season of Breaking Bad.



Tara Isabel Zambrano lives in Texas and is an electrical engineer by profession. Her poems have been published in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Moon City Review, The Healing Muse, San Pedro River Review and others. Her blog is https://taraisabelzambrano.wordpress.com/ and you can find her on Twitter @theinnerzone