𝗧𝘄𝗼 𝗗𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲𝘀: 𝗪𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 & 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗻𝘆 𝗩𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻

𝘣𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭 𝘗𝘰𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳

Wages of Death

Gerald was boss of Local 142. Long retired, he was still a take-charge guy. When Death’s Minion came calling, Gerald was no easy cull.

“Young man, where do you see yourself in 10 years?” he demanded of the black-hooded figure by his bed.

“Uh, doing this. My work is central to the Cosmos.”

“Nonsense. That’s what they tell teachers and plumbers to make them feel better. Are you unionized?”

“Um, no sir . . . “

“Well, here’s the deal. Find someone who makes twice your pay. I’ll go with them.”

Death’s Minion returned and started asking questions.

That’s how Gerald unionized the Hereafter.

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Stoney Virgin

Mary’s statue stood in Torney Square for 148 years, all-seeing. The McLeans robbed the milk depot–and Mary saw. Kara stabbed Colum Feeny on the docks and Mary saw. Mary always forgave.

One morning Mary’s toes showed beneath her stony robe. The Virgin had moved! A heavenly miracle! Villagers bedecked Mary with flower wreaths. But soon Mary’s distended robe and swollen belly told the truth. The Virgin was with child.

With horses the villagers yanked Mary from her pedestal. They dragged the sinful thing to Torney Cliff and tossed it in the sea. Tattered flowers floated on the foamy waves for weeks.

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Laurel Poe Gallagher is a writer, poet, and storyteller who has presented her work at many Chicago-area venues, including This Much is True, Greenman Theater, and the Illinois Poetry Society. Laurel’s latest obsession is bicycle repair.