Rocket Surgery by Tom Fugalli

You’ll need a light source of course, but it must be bioluminescent: a jar of fireflies or some deep-sea nightmare fish in a saltwater tank. You should hold the surgical instruments with your feet. Wearing a mask is frowned upon. Don’t think of that Elton John song. Unlike what you’ve seen in the movies, you won’t have to worry about which wires to snip. You’ll mostly be pressing buttons that flash and beep in creepy consoles. This may cause drowsiness. If you wake up claiming you heard voices from the future perfect, their questions will have been invasive. And all this science I don’t understand.


Tom Fugalli’s poetry has appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Forklift Ohio, Voicemail Poems, The Western Humanities Review, and elsewhere. He works as a Technical Writer so tells people he is technically a writer.