Clean your baby womb, trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
Nathan Abels, A Boundary, Not a Thing, 2008
Black Night
-- by George Young
Right now
a penguin stands in Antarctica,
its head drooping in the black night,
an egg between its legs—
and a Mayan God, tipped
on its side,
stares with blank eyes
at a pool in the forest covered with leaves—
and you
sit in an airport,
flight delayed, clutching your bag, far, far
from those you love.
The Gravity of Demise
-- by George Young
can be swift
as a phone book sliding off
the table and crashing to the floor
or slow
as a brown, curled leaf
drifting down
to land in a still pond—
(that leaf shaped like a man,
don’t call that number anymore).
The Dinner
-- by Chuck Augello
We are both vegetarians
but that never stops us
from eating each other's heart.
Hers is served in a light vodka creme sauce,
mine arrives without garnish.
We have dined on each other so many times,
it is a quick and joyless meal.
Where once we tenderized and basted
we now eat it raw,
with little conversation,
not even a "pass the salt."
We reach across the table in silence
grabbing whatever we need
as if the other has already gone.
I am tired of this bloody meal,
but I keep eating as long as she does.
The day we said, "I do,"
we never dreamt we'd be such carnivores.
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
Nathan Abels, A Boundary, Not a Thing, 2008
Black Night
-- by George Young
Right now
a penguin stands in Antarctica,
its head drooping in the black night,
an egg between its legs—
and a Mayan God, tipped
on its side,
stares with blank eyes
at a pool in the forest covered with leaves—
and you
sit in an airport,
flight delayed, clutching your bag, far, far
from those you love.
The Gravity of Demise
-- by George Young
can be swift
as a phone book sliding off
the table and crashing to the floor
or slow
as a brown, curled leaf
drifting down
to land in a still pond—
(that leaf shaped like a man,
don’t call that number anymore).
The Dinner
-- by Chuck Augello
We are both vegetarians
but that never stops us
from eating each other's heart.
Hers is served in a light vodka creme sauce,
mine arrives without garnish.
We have dined on each other so many times,
it is a quick and joyless meal.
Where once we tenderized and basted
we now eat it raw,
with little conversation,
not even a "pass the salt."
We reach across the table in silence
grabbing whatever we need
as if the other has already gone.
I am tired of this bloody meal,
but I keep eating as long as she does.
The day we said, "I do,"
we never dreamt we'd be such carnivores.
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