by Ted Sanders
Here is the halibut: he lives on the seafloor, swimming on his side, shimmying into the bottom’s silt. He affects flatness. He is meant to work this way. His top side, as he swims, is in truth merely his right side, where both of his close-set eyes now bulge.
by Colleen Kinder
When the priest directed his entire Sunday congregation to turn and welcome the foreign woman sitting in the last pew, Luisito was already staring at her from his wheelchair. He had propped himself up on the chair’s
right arm—something only a person of his size could do without toppling over—and was using the boost to peer over the heads of the congregation in Bejucal, Cuba,
for a clear view of the blonde person.
by Jim Daniels
Last week my mother had eyebrows tattooed on.
She asks how they look. She’s legally blind—
I could tell her anything.
by Nance Van Winckel
Wings, anyway, are, like brassieres, another cumbersome
strap on. Our Tilt-A-Whirl Deluxe Delivery System
pops us in and out of the Downtrodden’s Realm. Specters
inspecting. Have us a whim, and we’re there—as, say,
third base your kid tramples racing home. Love that
foot in the face! Piggy toe in the eye. Love it.
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