Monday Night

His sleeves

rolled up

giving his

young son

a bath;

the new

widower.

By C.A. Leibow

Bottle(s)

Drunk on assembling the scattered shards

green beer and blue wine

and transparent water my fingers

work to have something to fill.

By John Sibley Williams

Salute

The notion state traveled from room

to room before the public square

conquered within ear-shot.

From moods to zeitgeist the green patch

amassed an empire that colonized

the internet peoples, tearing down walls,

dissolving borders, hemispheres.

By Rich Murphy

King Of Beers

Curled

up & tinted red

On

the sidewalk under the

On

again off again spell

Of

an ancient neon curse

Flashing

in the dusty window

At

Big Al's Celebrity Lounge

A

faceless mass of matted hair

Blacked

out in the moonlight.

By Ed Markowski

Short-Pants Potentate

Inferno of a summer day

Mother’s dozing

Tommy, tiny, three,

paring knife in hand

tiptoes out, flops

short-pants potentate

upon the sidewalk sunny,

operates on ants

By Donal Mahoney

Illegal Chickens

Against city ordinances, a woman

keeps five chicks in her basement

until they grow large enough

to live in her backyard. No months

of red tape, no permits. The woman’s

protest against rising prices and urban

sprawl turns into omelets, an egg-hatching

science project for second graders, a pound

cake, a neighborhood reminder to catch

the sunrise. Eventually noodle soup

for the neighbor’s cold if she can

catch the darting old hen. Both beak

and chin stretch forward to gain speed.

By Jari Thymian

How the Red River Got Its Name

Dank basement, axes, missing limbs.

The floor creaks above, slow ka-thunks,

something dragged. Sleeping bags,

dim flashlights, a flood of blood in Crookston.

Something burble-burbles in the rusty

plumbing pipes. Young cousins wait

for the story lines: Give me back my liver!

Give me back my liver! The river –

much, much too close to Grandma’s house –

waits for its name.

By Jari Thymian

Never Used Angel

for sale, two dollars, plus shipping, on Craigslist.

Soul guardian, trumpet blower, summoner of heralds.

In excelsis deo, in electric neon, in a new box.

Lit up wings and wire, blinking bulbs, white

cord for snow camouflage, flightless wings,

holiday yard, hallowed art? Hollow art?

Shopping cart? Plus spiritual tax.

By Jari Thymian

Centennial Farm

This field is the one field

on the whole place we’ve never

plowed and planted.

We walk around it,

pacing it off together.

By Jillena Rose

Best Painting I Imagine

two pianos sit in the rain
laughing, in a white dress
you must be,
soaked, shivering, smiling —
as the rain still falls
you dance with eyes alight
your voice ringing
beautifully

By John Reay

Lemon Orchard

All afternoon, the scent of lemons,

as the sun crawls along their backs.

Why bother with mystery when this nostril-light

cracks the rind and routs from hideouts of sweetness

the ghost-scent?

I smashed a lemon,

and billions of distinct particles

left in a haughty squirt.

By Cork Kyle

Tooth Fairy

When I was five,
the tooth fairy got high,
and knocked out a pair
of my baby teeth.
I didn’t dare put them
under my pillow.

By Dennis J. Bernstein

Musician Wife

on long drives

my neck tendons
become guitar strings

my wife
reaches over

places her
velvet palm

on the back
of my head

and strums
me


a love song

By Terry Miller

Cliché

We were talking about cliché

the perfesser with the beard and glasses,

tweed jacket with the leather

patches,

and twelve men in blue and orange

jump suits, most with shaved heads,

wearing knit caps,

and tattoos on their arms and necks,

when there was a commotion

at the back, and we all got up

to look out the window

beyond the cinder block,

chain link and razor wire:

deer at the dark edge of the woods.

By Eric Gadzinski