March - Poem 19
Barking / Kathleen Bednarek
The dog’s barking begs a long story.
It echoes and transforms beyond
chain link. It remembers its mother,
and maybe its father. The father was
what gave it the muscly chest
and upper body, the mother,
its overall size and ears. It knew
the back of the cage for a while
and didn’t want to be noticed.
Once it was noticed, my neighbor wanted
its soft believing eyes,
its black and tan genesis,
a togetherfuture.
The dog wags its tail so much
the kids are afraid it will snap off
and fly from its body. They say
it will slingshot to Jupiter
and become one of its moons.
The dog seems to listen to this. It is
a tangent of love to watch a being adored.
It is a ritual to return staying with my hands.
red kite haikus / Mymona Bibi
Red Kite: heard.
every meeting, new
call of curiosity,
‘play,’ answers the wake.
Red Kite: seen.
speck of red-brown, speed-
less, threat to soar down and greet.
necks crane for life’s firsts.
untitled / Susan Hankla
Bit what was your allure?
I weatch butterflies at flowers and still I don’t know.
your voice? Your texts? Your approval of my flesh?
Thank you for my love of sorrow, because it rhymes with a lot of things.
But your temper, jealousy, no sense of humor when your brutish ways were like Heathcliff on the Moors.
So, Go on, Git!
Pitfall / Amy Haworth
We fell into the hole
Been trapped down here
Playacting hope in the system
While, above ground
the ladders are being burned.
Commonalities / Christina McCleanhan
poverty chickens squawk
in the dirt yard on the corner-
but eggs are eggs-
they cluck despite their dusty feathers
they eat and sleep, sleep and eat
on plastic drums, metal sheeting
small breast, scrawny thighs do not
predict their running speed
wealthy chickens preen
two streets away in
wooden boxes painted like barns-
but eggs are eggs-
they peck their owner for breakfast
they eat and sleep, sleep and eat
on new straw, beneath heat lamps
large breasts, thick thighs do not
impress their KFC cousins
liar liar poet on fire / Alexis Wolfe
i like a poem that lies
leans back and burps asks me to take
its waterlogged raincoat drips a river in my hallway
doesn’t say thank you never sorries stretches its legs
long and sighs i like my poem pathological
sticks to the facts straight as a kaleidoscope still as
a merry-go-round hiccups like a horse lockkneed in mid-
gallop laughs like Austin Powers says shag me
says lightning pop never sets an alarm buries clocks
in its front yard reminds me a prophet has never stared
directly into the face of god and knows no one’s reading this
