by John F. Buckley
I’ll keep the belly fat making me pant as I tie
my shoes. You can have taking the elevator.
I’ll keep the failure to floss. You can have opening
beer bottles with your teeth. I wish my canines
were still pointy. I’ll keep abdominal rumbles,
gut bloat, gassiness. I was a colicky baby, still might be. Continue reading
by Gary Lai
Ezra Pound fought with all of his might but
in the end he put a huge, ugly ai
in the middle of his big fat poem
that showed anything but love for China.
The book’s typesetter doesn’t speak Chinese
and used a font that is ten times too large. Continue reading
by Steph Spector
It doesn’t matter whether you’re on a hundred yards of turf stamped with the seal of our alma mater, or standing on a bluff overlooking a creek, cinnamon whiskey on the brain. It’s the curl-bend-whip of your wrist that makes them fly so fast and so willingly. It’s something like a turntable needle when it kisses a record, crackles, and sings. Continue reading
by Mia Sara
My gangling pale
telling me lies
as I drive downhill.
“They need me,” he says.
the bloated buddy,
dumped again, Continue reading
by Matt Mason
It’s time to just admit
I don’t speak the language.
I’ve traveled through relationships
like a man walking the Champs Elysees
wearing peach shorts and a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt
who, in each boutique, shouts:
“One. I. Want. One. Of these. Comprende?”
while seeming to pantomime the drama of fencepost digging. Continue reading