Remorseless | Faye Brinsmead

I toss random things in the trolley:

an iron lung, an irrational number,

double-strength remorse remover.

Know how much this is?

The checkout assistant

jiggles the anti-remorse.

Come with me, young man.

The tunnel winds deeper and deeper

into the so-called limbic system

which is our way of saying

we don't have a clue what it is.

The remorse I want to remove

sticks to everything like fog,

thunders darkly like deer

fleeing the truth of our guns.

The actual cost is more

than I could ever pay, I tell him. 

If it works, that is.

He finds my remorse interesting,

even attractive. Like crow's feet

or accordeon jowls, kindly lit.

We set sail in the iron lung,

but the irrational number cowers in the hold,

refusing to wear a life-jacket,

refusing to be consoled.

Faye Brinsmead's writing appears in journals including X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, MoonPark Review, New Flash Fiction Review and (mac)ro(mic). One of her pieces was selected for inclusion in Best Microfiction 2021; another was nominated for a Pushcart. She lives in Canberra, Australia, and tweets @ContesdeFaye.