Steve Castro

Two different options or so it seemed

The rain, it’s intolerable; what should we do master?
It's simple my loyal subject; you could either take out our umbrellas that I told you
to store in your military backpack, or you could simply turn off the rainmaking machine.

I’m truly sorry gracious master, but I forgot to pack our umbrellas and
the rainmaking machine switch seems to be stuck on tropical rainstorm.
Well then, our only remaining option is to take shelter in that abandoned
and haunted castle up ahead that will surely disappear once we step inside.

---

Following a sermon on the book of Job

I knew he was addicted when he lit a cigarette during mass;
at least he waited till after communion. No one said anything,
partly because there were only six people in attendance;
after the end of mass, he walked up to the priest and said, “Father,
I've decided to never smoke a cigarette ever again” and then he reached
into his sole front shirt pocket and took out a pack of crushed Camel Lights
which he gave to the priest; it was the first time the former
University of Notre Dame theology professor had held a pack of cigarettes
since he quit smoking nine months prior.

Steve Castro's poems have appeared in Grey Sparrow Journal, Underground Voices, Splash of Red, ASKEW, Chiricú, Divine Dirt Quarterly and Andar21 (Galiza / Galicia, Spain).  His flash fiction can be found in This Great Society.  Steve Castro was born in San José, Costa Rica.