Josh Corson

half-baked
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In  the  after-school  special,  getting  high  isn’t  my  idea. Jason pressures  me  into  buying  some “grass” as if we’re in a scene from Reefer Madness. I don’t realize the fog lurking across the bay while  hot-boxing Jason's Cadillac  at  the  pier  is  the  perfect  metaphor  for  what  comes  after  a commercial.  So  when  I’m  eating  in  the  cafeteria  in  the  next  scene,  overcome  with  the  smell  of fresh  cut  french  fries  dripping  from  the  fryer  still  bubbling  with  oil  I  miss  how  that,  too,  is  a metaphor for desire—how lust heats the blood—every inch of me hot and hungry for marijuana. Later  that  day  we  fade  into Jason “overdosing”  in  English  class—his  body  long  and  pale  even against the cream colored tie—the weight of what we’ve done sinks my stomach like a brick of drugs and I come clean to my dad that night at the dinner table. After another quick commercial, Jason, me, and my father talk directly to the camera about the cacophony of devils boys become when temptation, like a steady wind, cuts them down. And now the credits role—lesson learned. No one questions the ending. 

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​Josh Corson is a poet and educator from Tampa, FL. He holds an MFA in Poetry from the University of Pittsburgh. Josh has received fellowships from places like Tin House, the Atlantic Center for the Arts, and others. His work can be found around the web at The Offing, Crab Orchard Review, as well as other journals and mags. He’s usually lurking around on Twitch or playing guitar at home. You can read more of his work at joshcorsonmakes.com