Trilogy Off Flatbush

Through her new cedar fence comes my neighbor’s harsh voice, scolding the workmen.

Turning my compost, I ignore the perfidy of provosts and deans.

October surprise: a pregnant jogger, shirt hiked, bares her belly-eye.

— Jan Clausen

Six little girls sit on a short brick wall eating egg salad sandwiches.

::

The cabinet hangs open reproachful, while I eat more chocolate.

— Colleen Dawson

Back to school shopping tugs at my guts like the last flume ride of summer.

::

In E.S.L. class where new friends can’t converse, they hold hands, beaming joy.

— J.C. Elkin

Highway Fantasy

At night, cars with one burned out headlight pretend to be motorcycles.

— Ori Fienberg

Summer swimming in the neighbors’ pool while bees guard the honeysuckle.

::

Rustling leaves of our coral tree in night breeze became Freddy Krueger.

::

The trailers lined up in desert dirt were crooked rows of dirty teeth.

::

Grandfather takes his daily meds with Jack, fighting with each god-damned cap.

— Amanda Fuller

What Another Vet Said
after Hearing Me Read
My Vietnam Poetry

No one shot at me,
but everything I had was gone
when I came home.

— Terry Hertzler

I’d follow you if I could, across green air, through our last twenty years.

— Danielle Hunt

The yoga mat grins up, remembering the poses we showed it last night.

— Jen Lagedrost

My lawyer advised me to say nothing further on the Scofield case.

— Jake Oliver

I dropped my heart on the floor, face down, and outlined its corpse with chalk.

— Laura Praytor

When I wake up in the morning I like to congratulate myself.

— Sean T. Randolph

I once became an astronaut in my backyard, among the grass and snails.

— Scott Stewart