Attack of the Love Killers

BY Christopher Rife

 
        for Roger Corman and Lorrie Moore

While atomic grasshopper women crawl out of the dust of New Mexico
and the misunderstood scientist and his sexy lab assistant stay safe inside
their narrative bubble, kids in the back row unstick their feet in the dark.
They press palms together, vibrate soft, watching but not paying attention
as the alien invasion continues and bodies are snatched. 
                                                                                    I’ve learned
you can take two creatures and mash them together and wham - you’ve got
a monster fit for date night. But sharktopuses and piranhacondas have nothing
on the monsters made in the theatre. The grasshopper women cannot see the kids
hide in each other like fallout shelters. The scientist will not wait for the audience
to finish low-budget romances. It only works one way, until the credits roll on
the world as we know it, until they no longer flicker and stick to the screen.

Christopher reads "Attack of the Love Killers"


Christopher Rife is a writer and performer from Chicago, where he is about to complete his BA at DePaul University.  He is the co-founder, editor and publisher of N/A Literary Magazine.  His poetry is forthcoming in Denver Quarterly and A Literation.  He is putting together his first chapbook and figuring out where life will take him next.