week seventeen

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the downfall of traveling every week for work

while being on an airplane a lot
skymall magazine told me all the things i
didn't know i needed.

i begin to feel so sorry for myself.

i do not have a toothbrush that can clean itself
or a brownie pan that creates brownies only with edges

i do not have an electronic tarantula
meant to scare off other spiders

i do not have an i touch phone, let alone the two that would facilitate the dual charging device.

i do not have a baseball signed by pete rose
and my poor dog must have a strained neck as his bowl
is not ergonomic.

i do not have the case needed to talk on my cell phone while
scuba diving.

maybe most depressing of all
is that my bathrobe is not made of genuine turkish material.
it is just cotton.

my biggest concern with all of this is that
getting home is always a little less exciting after i realize how
inadequate all of my current possessions are.

megan morton

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the best blues are written in the fall

my roommate has been way too happy
to write any good blues songs lately,
but i have hope for him come fall.

blues written in the spring
have too much undercurrent of optimism,
surrounded by evidence of the after-darkness dawn.

summer blues are half-hearted, almost forced -
trying to pretend things are bad
during long, warm days.

and winter blues are unneeded, overdone,
like kicking the dead, honking in a traffic jam,
or burning a bent and broken building.

but the fall, that's a time for some killer blues,
when nature herself is saying, "yeah, we're all gonna die,
but we're going down in high style,

dressed in our best autumn clothes."


triple haiku on an autumn observation

if only humans
aged half as beautifully
as the dying leaves,

the cover of vogue
wouldn't waste any more time
with young, skinny girls,

but rather would show
some old centenarian
in orange and red.

austinrory hackett

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conversations: written down @ waffle house/served scattered

it was powerful, though, that girl, who is always at
the library and we smoke cigarettes with.
it didn't work. how's your painting going? -hmmmmmmmm
we must say deplorable. it is the word of the day.
i wonder if i used that in the right context.
-is that my laugh? yeah,-- is that mine?
do you want your trash straw?
and the rockets red glare
i thought about it the other day- how they cut down trees
cheese grits, cheese grits,
i want my song to play. i got a waffle, of course
i got a waffle.
you can sit anywhere you want.
i thought 'i saw the sign' was 'i saw the sun'
did you put syrup on your hash browns?
what is the best experience you've ever had?
-- take a minute
your favorite thing to do
i thought i was getting abducted once
i was listening to cat stevens,
people don't say their f's or t's
it was a vindictive waffle.
i hate that i'm curious.
my mother used to bring me to the morgue
and show me baby limbs.
i've seen at least fifteen. i was taught lessons.

jessie jarva

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i'm sorry

i'm sorry that my claw hammer
slipped from my hand
and stuck into the side of your dog.
some stitches will probably fix him,
but that patch of fur,
that tore away
as i pulled the hammer out,
is probably a goner.

to remember the day
let's change his name
to something that will remind us
that hammers and dogs don't mix.
i've got it!
let's call him "look out"
as i'm sure he'll forever
be looking for flying hammers,
particularly when you're with
any of your dirtbag friends.


it's okay

i could see,
as i looked
at the heel of your shoe,
that you had stepped
in dog shit
on your way
to my house.

you walked right in
like you didn't know
that shit and gunk
had stuck
to the sole of your sneaker,
and then you tracked it
through my living room.

i thought about
taking a meat cleaver
to your feet
and wrists,
and feeding the parts
to the pigs that live
in the neighbor's yard.

but i'm willing
to remain calm;
it's okay, really.
it's just dog shit
on my carpet
and as long as you
pay the bill
to clean it up
i'll give you back
your wife and kids,
unharmed.

lincoln wilder

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the a priori prize: how a winner is chosen by theoretical deduction

when he speaks his words are good...
he says we can improve this hood...
if we just act the way we should...
the intent cannot be misunderstood...
hmm, give him the nobel we could...

brad barth

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aw, here she comes again
with her wrinkled face.
blowin through her two front teeth
pullin up the roots.
screamin out the color...
green to gold to red to orange.
holdin in her hands
the coldest love we ever know.
her comes fall, she's makin snow.

holly jo hackett

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THERE WAS THIS GIRL, RIGHT? AND SHE WAS LIKE, SMOKING HOT, RIGHT? I MEAN, LIKE TOTALLY HOT. SO SOME DUDE WAS CHECKING HER OUT, RIGHT? HE WAS LIKE ALL LOOKING AT HER AND NOT LOOKING AWAY. AND HE WALKS UP TO HER AND HE'S ALL LIKE "I HAVEN'T SEEN A GIRL IN 4 MONTHS. YOU'RE VERY PRETTY." SHE JUST KINDA LAUGHS AND LOOKS AWAY. HE SAYS IT AGAIN "YOU'RE VERY PRETTY. YOU'RE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL I'VE EVER SEEN." HE DOESN'T LOOK AWAY THIS WHOLE TIME. HE'S NOT SMILING. HE'S JUST LOOKING AT HER AND TALKING ALL SERIOUS. SHE SAYS THANKS AND STARTS TO WALK AWAY. THIS GUY GRABS HER WRIST AND JUST KIND OF TURNS IT AND DOESN'T LET GO. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU'RE HURTING ME!" SOME GUY GRABS THIS SERIOUS GUY ON THE ARM AND TRIES TO MAKE HIM TO LET GO, BUT HE WON'T LET GO. ANOTHER GUY PUTS HIM IN A HEAD LOCK AND IS ALL LIKE "LET GO, OKAY--LET GO OF HER!" I REMEMBER THINKING AT THE TIME 'WOULD THEY ALL HAVE COME THIS QUICKLY IF IT WASN'T A PRETTY GIRL?" WHEN THIS GUY PULLED ON HIS ARM, IT HURT THE GIRL TOO, SO HE COULDN'T REALLY PULL THAT HARD. ANYWAY, THIS SECOND GUY PUTS HIM IN A HEADLOCK, BUT THEY CAN'T MAKE HIM LET GO -- HE'S JUST NOT LETTING GO. AND HE'S LOOKING AT THIS PRETTY CHICK--AND HE'S NOT SAYING ANYTHING ANYMORE. THE SECOND GUY IS PULLING HIS CHOKEHOLD REAL TIGHT, AND BY THIS TIME THE BARTENDER CALLED THE COPS. THIS GUYS FACE IS JUST GETTING REDDER AND REDDER, BUT HE STILL DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING, AND THE HEADLOCK GUY HAS ONE OF HIS ARMS AROUND HIS NECK AND ONE AROUND HIS FOREHEAD, BUT IN BETWEEN YOU CAN JUST SEE THIS GUYS FACE AND HIS EYES ARE JUST LOOKING AT THE GIRL, THE FIRST GUY SOCKS HIM IN THE STOMACH AND HE WINCES A LITTLE, BUT HE STILL JUST KEEPS LOOKING AT THE GIRL. THE GIRL IS TOTALLY CRYING AND ALL HYSTERICAL NOW AND HER FRIENDS ARE PULLING ON HER, AND IT'S HURTING HER, AND ONE OF THEM THROWS HER DRINK IN THE GUY'S FACE AND JUST STARTS SLAPPING HIM AND HE WON'T LET GO. AFTER LIKE A MINUTE MORE HE FINALLY PASSES OUT AND HE LETS GO. THE TWO GUYS HOLD HIM DOWN TILL THE POLICE GET THERE, BUT THEY DIDN'T NEED TO, HE WAS OUT. THEY JUST LOADED HIM UP AND TOOK HIM AWAY. WHEN HE FINALLY LET GO, I JUST REMEMBER THAT THAT GIRLS ARM WAS SO RED, LIKE HIS FACE WAS. YOU COULD SEE HIS HANDPRINT ALL ON HER ARM. YOU COULD SEE THE WRINKLES FROM THE JOINTS ON THE INSIDE OF HIS FINGERS.

dane cannon

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