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LAWS OF RELATIVITY
2008-06-11 10:27:00
by Gerard SarnatSitbreatheempty out all gravity.Pure white light down the center.Sauna, hot tub, fur family forest home.Organic blueberry granola skimmed milk breakfast...Oh my god what to choose among Hindu Varanasi onthe holiest Ganges or Bodhgaya where the Buddha wasenlightened under the Bodhi Tree or my namesake Sarnathwhere he gave his first sermon in the Deer Park; I alwayswanted to be in the Himalayas' low stress zone, Dharamsalawith the Dalai Lama's exiled refugees - a quick trip up north?Down to cold rainy asphalt homeless center parking lot cornerwhere hypertensive diabetic tobacco-hacking single men standaround under high pressures of real life's mixed blessings.Yesterday okay (sort of), today not so much, on the edge.Day old discarded trans-fatty charity baked goods.Rats gather amid psychotropic noncompliance.Two doctors' appointments blown:-- got rolled late last nightnow catch as catch caneverything's stolenone ankle brokenbum two smokesdentures lostpolice fightme...
More About: Laws , Relativity

FOREIGNERS
2008-06-10 09:29:00
by David ChorltonWhere are you from? You always have to ask.It hurts not to know. The accent won’t let you rest.Anyone can tell a foreigner by listening. The other countryis buried in every word. You can ask in a tentative voicepretending to be curious as if it really doesn’t matteryou’d just like to know. Or you can emphasise the youto be offensive because you’re not a foreigner. You’re home.You belong. Do you like it here? You ask that too.You only want one answer and if you get anotheryou’re upset. You’re insulted. How insulteddepends on the degree of foreignness. Some foreignerslook like you. They come in small groups. Singles.Married couples. Others come in multiples. They insiston shipping in their culture and unloading itin neighbourhoods that look as if they’d seceded.When you say foreigners these are the ones you meanbecause the others are invisible. One foreigner doesn’t disturb you. One alone doesn’t take a lot of space. A country of onecan be easily i...
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CAN'T STOP THE RAIN
2008-06-09 09:00:00
Burma, June 2008by Barbara A. Taylorin paddy fieldsthe splintered hullsof capsized boatsfloating bodiesin the debrisone cup of riceand rainwaterkeeps them alivemanna from abroadsacks of grains, wheat, cornguarded in vaultsin famine and floodthe right to eatcan’t stop the rain--from selfish soldiersa diet of frogsBarbara A. Taylor’s haiku and short form poems have appeared on Sketchbook, Shamrock, Stylus, Lynx, Simply Haiku, Three Lights Gallery, Tiny Words, Kokako, Eucalypt, Moonset, Contemporary Haibun, Modern English Tanka, and others, including recent anthologies, Landfall and Atlas Poetica. Her diverse poems with audio are at http://batsword.tripod.com/._____________ _______________________________
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DID I EVER TELL YOU WHAT I -- NOT MY FATHER, BUT I -- DID IN THE WAR?
2008-06-08 08:00:00
by Steve Hellyard SwartzI loved my fatherThe warriorI loved my father, the sailor, the aviatorI loved that my father was big and strong, myFather Who had been to warMy father who never saw the arrowShot from my bowNever saw it comingUntil it hit him in the backMy father who laid on the floorThe arrow in his hands, the arrow now somehow, magically, piercing his frontMy father who cried when I came out from behind my painted treeMy father who cried: You got me!You got me goodAs he tickled me and kissed me and messed up my hairLaterMuch laterWhen we fought about VietnamAnd I no longer would accompany him to stand on Central Avenue to watch the marchers in the Veterans’ Day ParadeWith their little capes and smaller wavesWhen I stood in the barAnd saw him out there, singing God Bless AmericaWith his hand over his heartAnd said to my friend JohnMy father’s as bad as Westmoreland, Johnson, all of themWith blood on their handsLaterMuch later that dayWhen my father and I fought at the kit...

STATE OF THE UNION, MORNING AFTER
2008-05-03 11:00:00
by Steve MyersHe’d come down off the mountain by Vera Cruz,past Kozy Korner and the Jewish Community Center,tracking the doe he’d wounded, and becauseI’d been shoveling all morning, and had hit that rhythmin the early going where the blade cuts down to asphalteasy, I admitted I hadn’t noticed the spatteringover the snowbank. Since September he’d been marking her,he said, when she and her fawns cropped his new azaleas—long story short, a major buttache, a fucking menaceto the neighborhood was how he put it, roadkill waiting to happen, so with my OK—shoutedover his shoulder—he’d cross my property. Reload.An English teacher, Steve Myers’ most recent collection, Memory’s Dog, appeared in Fall 2004 from FootHills Publishing. His poems have appeared in literary journals such as The Dark Horse, Ekphrasis, Paterson Literary Review, and Poetry East, as well as in Common Wealth, an anthology featuring contemporary Pennsylvania poets.___________________________________ __...
More About: Union , Morning , State , State of the Union

I HAVE LOST MY SENSE OF HUMOR
2008-05-02 12:15:00
by Silvia Brandon PérezI am hoping it is misplacedamong the orphaned socks,in one of the bags in the upstairscloset, or with the bottle lids,in the cookie tin from Francewhich is all that remains from Louis-Marie'svisit; it may be on my gardening table,outdoors with the soil and the shardsof broken pots, awaiting the endof interminable winter,ready to bloom with the azaleasand the phalaenopses,or in the file where my students'hopeful composicionesawait grading. It would not be permanently gone;I misplace but rarely lose things;it has been a faithful companionthrough sleet, accidents,the death of a parent, friends,a betrayal by this or that one,the day I entered the hut in Bahía Kinowhere the women were making hamacas;the small boy was inside in a wheelchair-Mercedita told me they cannot affordthe medical care that might make him better;he sits in the dark and listens to the radio,there are always rancheras playing in the morning,Verónica told me her hermana is workingfor the co...
More About: Humor , Lost , Sense

MAN BUILDS GUILLOTINE TO KILL HIMSELF
2008-05-01 12:35:00
by Amy HolmanMaybe he suffered from killer migraines. Maybehis neck itched. Maybe he had body issues.Maybe he was guilty over being the executionerin a past life. Maybe 41 is not the new 31. Maybeit was mind over matter.Amy Holman has been playing around with current news and/or headlines for a couple of years, here and there, including publications in Failbetter, Archaeology (online), Unpleasant Event Schedule, Rattapallax, Shade, and soon, on the Red Morning Press web site. She is the author of Wait For Me, I'm Gone, which won the 2004 Dream Horse Press annual chapbook prize. She writes poetry, fiction and nonfiction and work freelance as a Literary Consultant out of her tiny apartment in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.________________________________ ________
More About: Kill , Builds

THE SHELLS
2008-04-30 11:57:00
by Karla Linn MerrifieldOn the eve of the war in Iraqshe was contemplating opercula,small doorways of protection for snails-- ocean’s moon snails, slipper snails, alsoaugers & whelks of more intricate shells.On the eve of the war in Iraqshe reminisced about hermit crabsthat tuck their tender hind endsinto any abandoned shell that suits,taking shelter from predators.On the eve of the war in Iraqloggerheads in their formidable shellswere yet far off shore, so she touchedinstead six silver turtles pinned to her vest,gesture to totems of spiritual safety.On the eve of the war in Iraqshe was reminded that she is:human, she has no shell –only the simulacrum of the warriors’so-called shells that were put to useon the morning of the war in Iraq.Karla Linn Merrifield’s poetry has appeared publications such as CALYX, Earth’s Daughters, Poetica, The Kerf, Negative Capability, Paper Street and Blueline; on line in New Works Review, The Centrifugal Eye and Elegant Thorn Review, and...

SAVING MOTHER EARTH
2008-04-29 11:44:00
by Mary SaracinoA single day in April isn’t enoughto honor our Mother , save the planetthat is her body, restore her ocean womb,revitalize the atrophied arms and legsof her continents, remove the smogfrom her pristine lungs, replenish all that’sdepleted by the lust for profitover prosperity. Human hearts so greedyfor commerce they call deforestation progress,think cloning is a medical advancement,see artificial life as the wave of the future,as if civilization can only advanceby killing or dismemberment,by acquisition or annihilation.How to survive a world of paper or plastic,hybrid or gas-guzzler,genetically altered seeds,cloned cows, chemical poisons in the water,run-off from the mouths of politicianswho think global warming is good for business.What’s to be gained whenglobalization soils our souls,breeds a false sense of interconnection,feigns compassion predicated oncorporate exploitation, skimming moneyoff the backs of underpaid workers,trafficking in human life, in weapo...
More About: Earth , Saving , Mother Earth

WE, THE MANIFESTO
2008-04-28 10:11:00
by Scot Siegel1.We have this little word weWe misuse itWe speak of us not them as weWe condemnWe speculateWe weapons tradeWe pander to the highest bidderWe class warfareWe spread democracyWe celebrate and ridicule autonomyWe embargo rogue nationsWe water boardWe call it securityWe lose our integrity; for this little word we2.Though we have this other word WeNot us nor them but WeWe who build fences made of interlocking handsWe the generalists of human kindWe the specialists of peace and reconciliationWe are an army without a country nowWe who are meals on wheelsWe the doctors without bordersWe the volunteers of AmeriCorps andWe the people of Ecumenical Ministries –We the children who believe that sustainability is non-negotiableWe will have its way with us before long; we have no choice in the matter –We have this word WeWe must use it.Scot Siegel is an urban planner and poet from Lake Oswego, Oregon, where he serves on the Lake Oswego City Planning Commission and Board of Trust...
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300
2008-04-27 11:00:00
PoeArtry by Charles Frederickson & Saknarin Chinayote Gutter politricks lovers’ lane off-limits Aiming to go all the Way with nothing but strikes Maplewood floorboard slivers resurfaced urethane Iraqi road handicaps compensating scratch Imperfect game plan bowled over-and-out No OK/KO exit strategy rated-X Tenpins down for the count Kingpin George Bush-league Captain Warvel Crooked hook missing 1-3 pocket Leaving snake eyes 7-10 split Mission Accomplished impossible sparely inconvertible Callused thumb approaching preset frame-up Tripping over two left feet Angled spin landing in moat Dead man’s float sunken hopelessness Double-crossed betrayal keglers targeting darts Steamy pressure cooker dropping ball Stubbed toe swelling McCain painkiller Alley allies crying Uncle Sam No Holds Bard Charles Frederickson and coloraturartist Saknarin Chinayote e...

BANGER BOY
2008-04-26 12:09:00
by Spiel         ;      &nbs p; how was it they made you      &n bsp;      & nbsp; feel so proudwhen they addressed you as lady      & nbsp;         directly   &nb sp;      &n bsp;    in your boyfaceas they slapped you around       ;      &nbs p;  to teach you      &n bsp;      & nbsp; the lessonhow to become       ;      &nbs p;  a man of menbecause it would be      &nb sp;      &n bsp; a very naughty thingjust to station a boy      &n bsp;&n...

HOW PENNY SPENDS HER TIME
2008-04-25 12:05:00
by Earl J. Wilcox Penny , not Penelope, waits for Otis,not Odysseus, who has been awaynow for sixteen months in Iraq. Beforehis current deployment, he was inAfghanistan more than a year. Threeyears ago he was sent to Turkey.Before that, to Jordan as a Seal. Pennywaits today, not with suitors pleadingfor her treasure. Her treasure is inthe Middle East, where Otis pursuessnipers, hoping his armor will besufficient, not seeking safe passagethrough Muslim, Greek, or evena Christian God. Only the sunby day, the moon by night bringsPenny and Otis together when theyagree to pray each day and night asthey go to sleep and when they arise.Most days it seems twenty years sinceOtis spent time with Penny.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he has contributed some 45 poems to New Verse News.____________________________________ ____
More About: Time

NOW ENTERING CRAWFORD, POP. 789
2008-04-24 13:10:00
by Andrew RihnThese whitewalls howlas ghostsalong the nighttime asphaltand mybrake pads feel like sponges.The rear viewmirror, slick with paranoia,waitsfor the inevitable flashinglights,red and blue, behind me.Staticcracks the radio silence likea whipand I am no longer riding onJackKerouac's dream –becausethisis no longerAmerica,1946.Andrew Rihn is a student at Kent State University, where he is also a peer writing tutor. His poetry has appeared online in in journals such as the NeoAmericanist, Poetic Injustice, Dissident Voice, and Poets Against the War. He has had articles published in MR Zine as well as Praxis: A Writing Center Journal. Most recently, he won first place in Kent State's Wick Poetry Scholarship for undergraduates.__________________________ ____________________________

SMALL TOWN CHECK-UP
2008-04-23 11:40:00
by Terry BrixCheck ed out Belcherville, TX trash embeddedIn the weeds, plastic bags shredded by wind & sandLike a reputation torn with foul words, cleaver lies.Beer cans, Burma Shave signs, old store frontsSprouting fractured broken glass & tired dreams,Red River in the distance--memories of the old West.Glasgow, MT Air Force left the base two decades ago,Only thing landing & taking off are tumbleweeds.Base a ghost town, Glasgow town drying up so fastMud cracks, cakes & curls mute lips to utter silentWords that end in leave, gone, bye, lost, dead.These can be heard by people that have died or left.Vici, OK near the Oklahoma panhandleThe only life being drawn from two miles down.Brine 200 million year old seawater with a pinchOf iodine that drives the town economy so poorOtherwise streets & ramshackle buildings leaningOn each other like dying soldiers after battle.Blue River, OR a former gold & old growth timberTown plus the Cougar Dam reservoir in the 1930s.La...
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DRIVING AMERICA
2008-04-22 11:29:00
by Linda Lernera large white convertible cruisesinto late December, turning heads,a few rub their eyes, “wow, neat car,”someone yells, another gives a thumbs upto the white haired man behind the wheel;       ;    he nods back,just taking his baby out for a spin,not wired to twenty first century sound bytesno seat belts to strap him in      &nb sp;      &n bsp;      I t's 1959. His first car.“aint nothin’ but a hound dog” rocks;just out of college and ready to make newshe’s burning rubber in Brooklynthe country still riding I love Ike prosperity, victory in notjust one but future wars;what would have paidkids’college tuition, bought a nice homekeeps his engine running, heart beating:50 years and good as new,but every creak in the car’s struggleto push open its top echoes in his bonesmeans it’s back to finding a mechanicknows how to...
More About: America , Driving

WHAT IF THEY'D HAD
2008-04-21 11:23:00
by Steve Hellyard SwartzEmail in Lincoln's dayInstant Messaging in Alexander the Great'sVideo games in Jefferson'sCredit cards in Emily Dickinson'sKeno in Descartes'sGPS in Bret Harte'sDrive-Thrus in Walt Whitman'sHallmarks in Harriet Tubman'sWhat ifGeorge BushHigh from the rush and the black spewing gushOf a Midland/Odessa hardonKissed the pre-Jihadist Osama Bin LadenWhat if hippies really had stopped the warAnd Bush, with his heart turned to mush,Whispered (in his real voice, the voice which derivesfrom his Connecticut core)What on earthAre we fighting for?Steve Hellyard Swartz's poetry has appeared in New Verse News, Best Poem, switched-on guttenberg, levelpoetry, and The Kennesaw Review. An Honorable Mention winner in The Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Competition, the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards, and the Mary C. Mohr Poetry Award, Swartz will be published in The Paterson Review and The Southern Indiana Review in 2008. In 1990, his film Never Leave Nevada opened in Dra...

AFTERTHOUGHT
2008-04-20 09:17:00
by David ChorltonAs long as there is onecall still among the treeswe listen. It is the cuckooand we remember the notesto repeat them when evenit has gone, the waythe mockingbirdslearned to imitatethe many ways our cell phones rang.David Chorlton has two new chapbooks posted online, The Dreaming House and Dry Heat. Both draw on life in Arizona._________________________________ _______

CHEER ON OUR NATIONAL GUARDERS
2008-04-19 12:12:00
by HLThose braveBoys with the StarsMarched up to the shrine of demonocracy.While they did the lying,We did the crying.You leaders,Tell our boys, “No more death!”We got no time for suffering& dying,Let the unwashed& unknowingDo it for us.Clear our memories of deep freezeWars,Use the oil on our highways.Sheikhs?Dress them up like Philistines.Keep us safe from KhyberSpying,Paint their faces with grotesqueStories,Make them murderersThat got no cool.Help us winThis climate conquest.Keep us on the airwaysFlying.Melt the snow on highestMountains,Blame it all onChinese coal.DemandBlood money at our gates,More credit!Save our sorryMortgaged asses.We shall be last to face our fates.HL is a computer-nerd bicyclist who cranks out poetry as he rides along prairie grass and gravel roads. He says, "War is not the Answer / Ride a Bicycle," and more at his HL link here and in the left column of The New Verse News.____________________________________ __________________
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HOW SACRED IS SACRED?
2008-04-18 11:06:00
by Barbara A. TaylorWe are devout victimsof a Church which misinterprets,expounds God’s word to meanthere is no love, no respectfor those less powerful, like cutechoir boys or orphans in their careWe are devout victims of a Churchwhich misinterprets, expounds God’s wordto mean there is no love, no respectfor those among us, one in threedeemed deviants. We are devout victimsof a Church which misinterprets, expoundsGod’s word to mean the bishop cannot be gay.Nuns and professors don’t do that, never did,and homosexuals do not pray, nor evershould they marry. But I have sung His gloryin cathedral choirs, taught catechismat the Sunday School, learned not to killor steal or hate. In middle-age I still rejoiceeach day I give my daily bread to beasts and man.Let no one hunger, starve from want ofhuman love, compassion.Everywhere every life is sacred:The girl, the boy, the woman, the manThe flashing lights of firefliesThe trees in bud, the hanging fruitsThe baby in her crib, gurgling...
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TUESDAY, A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER
2008-04-17 11:20:00
by Wayne CrawfordTen minute walk west of Abraham Lincoln’s tomb.4:20 p.m., April 17, 2007. Springfield, Illinois.An elderly man in long-sleeves steps offhis front porch slab, walks to his flagpolenear the street, dropsthe U.S. flag to half-mast.Blacksburg, Virginia. Same day.The campus of Virginia Tech. Police identifythe 23-year old student/killer of 30 students andfaculty. Flags drop to half-mast across the country.The same Tuesday . Washington D.C. The govern-ment reports 3,300U.S. service personel killed       ;      &nbs p;      &nb sp;so far in the war in Iraq.Among the most recent: Male, 32, Texas. Male,25, Indiana. Male, 29, Illinois. Male, 20, Ohio.Male, 19, Idaho.Same Tuesday. Geneva, Switzerland. Representativesof Jordon and Syria ask the international communityto help meet the needs of nearly two millionIraqi civilians     &n bsp;    driven f...

BEYOND BLACKSBURG
2008-04-16 09:35:00
by Yolanda Coulazon the anniversaryTwo days before,I scratched the earthbeneath the columbinein my garden.Pulled weedsthat overwintered there,ripped up their roots,thought nothingof their sweat and sap.Columbinesprouts from sand and soil,cuts through cracksin the asphalt path.Columbine—stuck in my mind;a different meaning nowsince ’99.The columbineshe spits her seeds;like weeds they multiply.Her vibrant bloomsless beautifulfor her name.Today—Virginia,violence multiplied.Virginia,her nameshall never be the same.Virgin rage,virgin blood,virgin tears,Virginia.Yolanda Coulaz is a poet, photographer, editor, and founder of Purple Sage Press. She teaches poetry workshops to middle and high school students throughout Long Island and coordinates and hosts the Farmingdale Library Reading Series. Coulaz edited and published the anthology For Loving Precious Beast to help benefit Loving Touch Animal Rescue. Her first book of poetry Spirits and Oxygen is being used in an advanced course i...
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THE BRIDE
2008-04-15 11:20:00
by Ed WebbDawn found her calm, but unslept.Her mother made tea, and stroked her hair,Took no breakfast help nor comfort.Was the single tear proud or sad? Asking was out of reach.She washed carefully, dressed carefully, offered confident prayers forThis house abandoned,her mother's remaining years,the day's deeds.Stepped forth proudly from this house with no menInto a world of strangers,Holding at her breast her secret joy.At the checkpoint, the explosion.Ed Webb studies and teaches Middle East politics. It can be depressing.______________________________ ________________________
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WHAT PROMETHEUS COULDN'T HAVE KNOWN
2008-04-14 11:41:00
by Barbara SchweitzerAnd what if we had never known of fire –if Prometheus had kept it to himself,saved his liver and left us cold – and whydid we expect otherwise? This great geltof his mind gelded him, after all,while we have gone blissfully along,erecting not one Prometheus Mall,no monument, not an airport or song,not a holiday, nor any way, thankinghim for his sacrifice of warm embrace.Poor Meethy. He couldn’t have known of our rankingratitude, our superior racefor arms and other ilks of fire, or our sweetstupid skill of shooting ourselves in the feet.Barbara Schweitzer is a poet and playwright and author of 33 1/3._____________________________________ _________________

DISCOVERY OF ZINNIUM
2008-04-13 09:09:00
by Terry BrixScientists search for years looking for Zinnium,*Thought to be able to reduce anxiety like lithiumYet be as valuable and useful as gold/platinum.At first they looked for it in the nuclear reactors, particle acceleratorsScience never found it. Asked industryBest brains didn't get cold fusion, cheap hydrogen, helium-3Got non-stick aluminum foil, strips for teeth whiteningNot even close. Looked to the wealthy, their troves,Off-shore accounts, gold deposits. Not a traceZurich, Tokyo, Fort Knox, even in Bill's basement.Spirituality was tried, Vatican gave up in a week,Mormons and Moslems hung out for two.First found in Acoma Indian Reservation in New Mexico,A land twice stolen, then used as a tribe dump.Then veins in walls of ghettos in Chicago, the Bronx,Ozarks, Hell's Kitchen, Havre, Watts whereverPoverty rampant, which is about everywhere--Zinnium.Industry tried to buy it, merge it, acquire it, steal,Anti-trust, intellectual property theft it, but couldn't,Eminent Dom...
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MYOPIA
2008-04-12 11:50:00
by Diane Elayne Dees "It wasn't women as a gender that were taken against their will, shackled...and put in slavery." --Clarence Jones, former MLK advisor, What Martin Would Say.The women of Salem, swaying from wood beamson Gallows Hill, cannot speak. The women banishedto Indian reservations, sent because they dared to speak,are silent now. The women shackled and force-fed,gut-broken for the rest of their lives, because they were brazenenough to believe they should vote--can no longer talk to us.The girls sold as prostitutes do not dare say a word.The women who did speak up, and were locked intoassylums, were never heard from again. The womenwhose genitals were mutilated to cure them of lovingtoo many men, or loving even one woman--they, too, are silent. The women fighting in Iraq--who fear rapeas they fear the enemy--try to speak, but our ears are stuffedwith American flags, and we do not hear. Women takenagainst their will and shackled...that, too, is America.Diane Elayne Dees ...

THE GIRL ON THE TANK
2008-04-11 12:02:00
by Genevieve JencsonThe headline reads:Soldiers despairas public ignoresIraq conflictI read it,finish my toast, drive to work,and I forgetuntil I see her,a girl perched on top of that old tankthat guards the memorial garden at the American Legion.Her bare legs dangle on either side of the barreland a breeze lifts stands of her corn silk hair.She looks so beautiful, so innocent, at this momentit’s hard to believe we’re at war.The morning paper says thousands dead,and those are just the ones on our side.Who is counting the all the girlswith dark frightened eyes caught under a shower of bombs,born in the wrong place at the wrong time?Who is counting the angry young men,taught to fight with no other choice? From her spot on the tank,it appears the world cannot touch her;and on this warm spring evening, I feel like the worldcannot touch me.But how close are we to the edge,how long can we remain unscathed,and were we ever really innocent?________________________________ _______________...
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THE WAR
2008-04-11 12:00:00
by Silvia A. Brandon Pérezis not news anymoreor so the local so-callednews providers believethousands of peoplemarching through the streetsof San Francisco or New York,DC or the midlandsis not an occasion for reportage,the arrests, and tasers and pepper sprayfor peaceful protestersthe subject of torturethe subject of imperial and every bloodyaggressionis not fit for consumptionin this land of the bleatingand the comfortableSilvia A. Brandon Pérez is a recent transplant to the West Coast; she is a writer, activist, translator, singer/songwriter, basically in a permanent state of fed-up-ness._____________________________ _________________________

CHINESE WIFE BURNS 400 CELL PHONES
2008-04-10 13:30:00
by Rochelle Ratner (1948-2008)398. She counts them again. The inventory list says 400. Probably gave two to the hussy. She walks along the shelves, picks up a camera phone, takes a picture of her cunt, then finds a phone with more resolution and takes another shot. The deep sex smell’s enticing. She walks along the rows now, match in hand, careful to light one phone at a time so she can hear each sizzle. She remembers that sizzling rice dish she went to so much trouble to make for him. Here’s a small blue phone a customer used for a test call last Monday. She hits the redial but the number’s blocked. Of course it’s blocked. She picks up speed now, trying to get them all to burn together. She has less than twenty phones left when the police arrive. She turns back to look one more time. The fireworks have abated. By next week these phones will be replaced with newer models, she supposes. There will always be new phones, new men, new women.Rochelle Ratner's most recent poetry ...
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JUST ANOTHER YEAR
2008-01-18 11:30:00
by Robert M. ChuteThe voters of Michigancareful not to slipon the icestep over the latestbodies from Baghdadto tell usIT'S THE ECONOMYas we told you before.Let the leadershave their war.It's only a little war.Robert M. Chute has a book from JustWrite Books, Reading Nature, of poetry based on scientific articles, that is available from Amazon or Barnes and Noble.
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