Three poems | by Vern Fein

STEENY We called him by his last name, never Reggie. Just Steeny or “Steeny Weenie.” Back in the 50’s before geek became a word for uncool or nerd, before Dylan glorified GEEK in Ballad of A Thin Man, Steeny was the object of our taunts, the bullying we all did before that was a word…

Futility|by Mitchell Grabois

At age seventeen, I was a Paul Simon song: a rock, an island. I was Dostoyevskys underground man. I was Camuss Stranger, who only needed his neighbors howls of execration to complete him.  I was a zombie, undone by a woman I’d met in New Orleans. I was a diamond with a flaw, as described…

Three poems | by John Grey

A TORNADO WARNING I’ll kick plywood and plaster about, slam the roadhouse into submission, use Martha’s cows for a private slam-dunk competition with a net torn from the new mayor’s three-piece suit. I’m headed from the south with winds a thousand times faster than any fairground ride, that’ll rip up Eddie’s farm supplies, enter the…

Don’t Turn a Blind Eye | by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

Father, that malnourished child who strums the guitar of hunger on desolate streets of poverty begs to feed on crumbs falling off your golden table. Don’t turn a blind eye! Mother, that wildly merchandised child who makes your head dangle in shame for womanhood, humanity and posterity can still be tamed and saved. Don’t turn…