Apr 19, 2010

Maine Road, A.A.Wilson

Maine Road
By Andrés Amitai Wilson

Maine road trots.
Headlights lash
Slaving trees.
Twilight cloud-crash

Passage, J.Glass

By Joan Glass

All the way there the ambulance
blasts its sirens, blocking your cries.

You fall asleep, scrunched up
in the back, exhausted,
your tiny, pale body wrapped
too quickly in colorless blankets.

Halfway there, the EMTs
laugh quietly, a private joke
to break up the long hours.

The driver drinks Dunkin Donuts
and does not speak to me at all.
They do this every day.

But out in the world
there are piles of leaves
that will scatter without you.

Silent snowdrifts
will shift and shrink.

Another baby is born into the world.
Her mother screams in agony.

Bottom-Feeder, G.A.Waters

By Gil A. Waters

You can suck on my anger
until you choke on my fear
You can spit or you can swallow
I don’t really care

Bend over and take it
You should be used to that by now
after a lifetime of submission
Just do what you’re told

You’re a bitch for the world
so you might as well be mine
Get on your knees
I know you can crawl

Scream all you want
no one will hear
You were silent before
and no one’s listening now

My Alternative Career As...N.Guinneach

My Alternative Career as a Male Model
By Nan Guinneach

oh look here i am at schiphol sliding an icecream into my mouth
a gaze of lunar intimacy cast out over the baggage carousels
and here again at charles de gaulle my hair coiffed with static wind
another of me on the front of a magazine
a hand i don’t recognise but i remember the tie
the people around me smiling too much too much champagne
where for me it was the eating of it all
the skin type and fights engineered with my boyfriend
so i could change my online relationship status to don’t ask
there’s only one kind of zoo
and now i wait for you to arrive in your probably new suit
oh look here you are
you’ll want to talk concepts and moods
and in the hazardous crack of evening both of us will murmur
it’s ok because i’ve chosen it

Cracker Jacks, N.Mezynski

Cracker Jacks

by Neila Mezynski

Braids so tight her eyebrows lift. Ribbons, cookie toting, waiting for dad. He brought her Cracker Jacks for the toy inside and games in the red brick house. For sitting at Mother’s feet when fully baked baby comes home. Emerald green, sparkly buttons, stay away smile. The prize in a box of Cracker Jacks, from dad. More: shades drawn in a dark room in the red brick house. He remembered Old Tucson, cowboys and Indians, Cracker Jacks and a small hand holding prize.