by Paula McLain
Ditto the sublime with bird-swamped dawn
And a plate of Bosc pears. The peacock can stay,
But why not a little less dazzle in the redemption scene?
A little more rent? Something with ass-kicking consequences?
by William Hathaway
After a steady day of it, rain
turned to wet, fat flakes after sun fall,
and now with every step down the dark road
before sunrise, my shoes scrunch
grim comments in the canyon
by Howard Luxenberg
“Bright and early, boychick.” The implication is that he will get up before me for the joint tag sale we’ve planned for tomorrow. He is Hyman. A guy in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. Not quite old enough to be my father, though he likes to act the part. My neighbor, Hyman Slotnick. A piece of work.
by Debora Greger
When I was alive, I wandered the streets
of the old state capital, but now that I’m dead,
I lie in a cornfield outside of town. In the morning
of my life, how was I to know it was late afternoon?
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