Nancy Scott

OR SO IT SEEMED

He was a fine raconteur, drawing applause
for his stories about growing up
in the hard coal region of Pennsylvania.
How easy to tattoo hayseed on his forehead
had he not been a scholar and colleague.
Or so it seemed.

While others were harassed into producing
what amounted to intellectual trash
or chastised for tribal squabbles which, in truth,
were no more than penis envy,
his outlier star shone brightly.
Or so it seemed.

How could one find fault with a colleague
who, as a child, ate onion sandwiches for lunch,
shared one teacher with six grades
in a single room schoolhouse, and took turns
chipping ice in the privy on cold winter days?
Or so it seemed.

His father died of black lung disease; his mother
heart failure because they could not afford
a doctor. The sons delivered papers for pennies.
Yet, all three managed to earn PhDs.
What an amazing story!
Or so it seemed.

Alas, when the skein of lies began to unravel,
he was hard-pressed to explain.
Whatever our goals, how many of us wish
we could inhabit a different history?
Sure, go ahead and improvise,
but pray no one steps forward to debunk it!


Gerald So's YouTube video reading of "Or So It Seemed":



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Nancy confesses: "Identity theft is not a rarity. This poem is actually true, I think. I want to believe it happened that way but I am not sure. I am not a suspicious person, but I’m afraid to answer the door to a woman with child asking if Bennie lives there."

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade. She is also the author of nine books of poetry and a novella, Marriage by Fire (Big Top Publishing Company, 2018). Before she retired and turned to writing, she had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey which informed and inspired many of her poems. Originally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

WINTER

It’s always winter somewhere although snow has melted,
The power grids are juiced and only potholes remain; yet,
the 1% worry about conditions on the slopes at St. Moritz.

It’s always winter somewhere when the boilers don’t heat,
the shelves are bare, but for a tin of sardines, and the poor
wait in lines for a dwindling share of the American dream.

It’s always winter somewhere when the coffins are sealed,
the candles lit and prayers intoned, but in the wings the icy
finger of death prepares to pull the trigger again and again.


Aja Beech reads "Winter":



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Nancy confesses: "This poem, written in 2018, was never published. It was inspired by the mass shooting at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas high school in Parkland, Florida. Surely this tragedy would shock America to its core. Things would change. Yet, the gulf between us has only widened and the dying never stops."

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade. She is also the author of nine books of poetry and a novella, Marriage by Fire (Big Top Publishing Company, 2018). Before she retired and turned to writing, she had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey which informed and inspired many of her poems. Originally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

BALFOUR

A friend of my sons’, he lived with us
his last three years of high school.
He got a full scholarship to Eastern Michigan
but lost it by January after he ended up
in the county lockup
for receiving stolen property.
I loved the kid, but it wasn't enough.
His father had beaten him too many times.
In 2016, two weeks out of Riker’s Island
he overdosed in a Manhattan alley.
I miss him.


Margot Douaihy reads "Balfour":



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Nancy confesses nothing.

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade. She is also the author of nine books of poetry and a novella, Marriage by Fire (Big Top Publishing Company, 2018). Before she retired and turned to writing, she had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey which informed and inspired many of her poems. Originally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

FOR WANT OF A DOLLAR

from the caseload

Her cornrows braided with baubles
the young girl sits between her mom and
her grandmother on a shabby sofa
drapes drawn, one bulb lighting the room
all of them sobbing as she explains

she’d wanted money to buy candy
so for a quarter she let neighbor boys put
their hands in her panties, but older
boys from Spring Street gave her
a dollar and raped her behind a dumpster.


Nancy reads "For Want of a Dollar":



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Nancy confesses: "As a caseworker for the State of New Jersey, I saw on a daily basis how poverty impacted lives in ways we, who don’t have to worry about putting dinner on the table, can hardly imagine. This was a good, church-going family. None of the boys was ever charged."

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade. She is also the author of nine books of poetry and a novella, Marriage by Fire (Big Top Publishing Company, 2018). Before she retired and turned to writing, she had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey which informed and inspired many of her poems. Originally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years. www.nancyscott.net

Commentary on "That Alternative Universe"

For Day 6 of our National Poetry Month blog tour, commentary from frequent contributor Charles Rammelkamp. —Gerald So

Nancy Scott’s “That Alternative Universe” is full of the pathos and smoldering outrage you will find in her poetry collection, Running Down Broken Cement, which basically covers the same ground, narrative and lyric poems about her life as a social worker, investigating cases of child abuse. In this poem, she describes the usual process of interview and denial on the part of the abuser, the implicit shame on the part of his wife, the enabling bystander. The criminal here is a chemical engineer for a “multi-national company,” from which we infer that he is educated, middle class, a “normal citizen,” we’d like to think. All the more reason for his wife to demand that the case worker interview the husband in the basement and park her car – probably with official insignia on the fender or hood – discretely away from their home, so the neighbors won’t suspect anything.

But that’s just the first part. The man, who has been molesting a four-year old (I was sure it was his daughter, but re-reading the poem I can’t be sure), is eventually caught after a repeat incident and thrown into prison. But the case worker – the narrator – goes to an appointment with her therapist (and who is surprised she needs therapy?) only to learn that he, the doctor, the person who is there to help her, is just as big a creep as the child molester. He tells his patient that for fun he takes the train to Philly, loaded up with his photographic equipment, where he tries to get young women to pose for him for “outdoor glamour shots.” He promises free photos “if they come to his studio, wonders why they never / show up. Not even a call to cancel, he complains.”

So many lines have been crossed already in the narrator’s experience, but this one feels like a real violation. But where’s the actual crime in the revelation of the therapist’s character?

I'm getting a migraine. I'm tired of dealing with creeps,
especially this one in whom I've confided.
When he asks if I'm coming back next week, I say, Yes.
No need to explain why he'll never see me again.

Not even a call to cancel! Wonder why?

The title is curious. Does it refer to the purely “abnormal” that is on display all over this poem? Or is it specific to one of the characters? Alternative to what universe? I love that title; it alone makes you read the poem several more times. —Charles Rammelkamp

Nancy Scott

THANK YOU, MR. K.

Now little boys don't need
to giggle behind the maple tree.
They can wiggle their weenies
at little girls with impunity.
Underage, a boy can drink
until he pukes; wait his turn,
fumble and grind, and, if
she tries to scream, clamp
his hand across her mouth.
If he can’t manage
to force himself within her
or claims he didn't do it,
there’s no crime.
Thanks for clarifying that.
The Devil’s Triangle is not
a drinking game, sir.
Though anatomically correct,
your meaning of boofing
has Merriam-Webster
in stitches. Tell us this—
do you feel entitled to set
precedent because you attended
a pricey private school,
where to have a hangover
was a badge of honor?
Despite denials and snarky replies,
your actions have enlightened us
about the law. Thank you, Mr. K.


Nancy reads "Thank you, Mr. K.":



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Nancy confesses: "I like men, despite their insecurities when it comes to sex. Believe me, I was bothered when my friend’s father grabbed my breasts and said, 'Nice headlights' or a city councilman asked me, 'How many inches can you take?' Today, with no memory of it, they would tell me I was mistaken."

NANCY SCOTT, managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade, is the author of nine books of poetry and a novella, Marriage by Fire (Big Table Publishing Company, 2018), short stories described as "an elegant sexy romp." She had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey, which inspired many of her poems. Originally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years, but considers herself a Midwesterner. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

THAT ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

I was the one dispatched when a call came in
to the child abuse hot line. Denials fit
a similar pattern—a wife who wouldn’t let me
in until I agreed to interview her husband
in the basement, and would I please park
my State car in the street, not in her driveway?

As I sat in a plastic lawn chair while the washer
whirred its cycles, I questioned this chemical
engineer who worked for a multi-national company.
The allegation accused him of molesting
a four-year-old. Of course, he denied everything.
A few months later, he got caught again.
This time he landed in prison.

Now I’m sitting across from my new therapist,
who’s telling me, by way of example, how to deal
with disappointment; how he straps on camera gear
and takes the train to Philly, where sometimes
he succeeds in luring (my word) young women to pose
for outdoor "glamour shots." Promises free photos
if they come to his studio, wonders why they never
show up. Not even a call to cancel, he complains.

I'm getting a migraine. I/m tired of dealing with creeps,
especially this one in whom I've confided.
When he asks if I'm coming back next week, I say, Yes.
No need to explain why he'll never see me again.


Nancy reads "That Alternative Universe":



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Nancy confesses: "Working for the State of New Jersey was an eye-opener. I had no idea the range of mostly men, who molested children. When the licensed therapist learned I wasn't returning, he wrote the U.S. Constitution gave him the right to photograph young women and began stalking me. I went from the hunter to the hunted."

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade and is the author of nine books of poetry. Her most recent, Ah Men (Aldrich Press, 2016) is a retrospective on the men who have influenced her life. She had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey. which inspired many of her poems. Orginally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years, but considers herself a Midwesterner. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

THE HOMELESS ARTIST, TRENTON, NJ

His work screams from the gallery walls—
women in contorted positions, hair laced with serpents,
steam engine full frontal spewing blood,
blackened bodies leaping from a burning tower.

He says once he had to appear in court where the judge
tried to understand his art. A baby tied to a railroad track,
the Judge said. How do you consider that art?

Your Honor, the man said. It is not a baby tied
to a railroad track. It’s canvas with paint.
He doesn't say why the court confiscated all his work.

I want my own apartment, he says, but the government
always runs out of money.
We're put out of the shelter every day at 6:30 a.m.

Where do you paint? I ask.
The gallery gives me space, he says, and I walk, four, five
miles around town. I know where to get free coffee.

Dipping his brush into bright yellow paint, he swashes it
all over the blank canvas. He steps back to inspect his efforts,
every inch of canvas covered with sunshine.

Once when I had no place to sleep, I walked until I found
a vacant house near the river. No running water or heat
and part of the roof was missing, but someone left a guitar
and I had electricity. Took cops six months to find and
arrest me for criminal trespass. I couldn't post bail;
besides the jail was warm and I got meals.


Nancy reads "The Homeless Artist, Trenton, NJ":



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Nancy confesses: "I met the artist at the gallery where I went to see a new exhibit. We were the only two there and struck up a conversation. I spent decades assisting homeless people to find permanent housing, but the problem never goes away. Heartbreaking to realize how we've failed as a nation."

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade and is the author of nine books of poetry. Her most recent, Ah Men (Aldrich Press, 2016) is a retrospective on the men who have influenced her life. She had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey. which inspired many of her poems. Orginally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years, but considers herself a Midwesterner. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

THE HELPER

The big, lumpy seventeen-year-old wasn't on the rental subsidy
meant for his grandmother and four young grandkids.

Helping out, he said, hanging his head, but I guessed he had no
place else to live. After I inspected the house, I asked him,

Why is there broken glass upstairs? Your gran keeps those rooms
locked because she can’t make the stairs.

He shrugged, then offered, They were playing there today
and broke the mirror squares on the wall.

Get a broom and clean up the mess now, I said, voice shrill,
as he shuffled off toward the kitchen.

Is he really helping you? I asked the old woman, bent with age,
ankles swollen.

Please let him stay, Miss Nancy. He helps the best he can.
Otherwise they’ll take my babies…no one else to care for them.

I watched him lumber up the stairs with broom and dustpan,
hoped at least for today, the kids would be safe.

No luck for a twelve-year-old across town. In June, he climbed
through her open bedroom window, raped, and strangled her.


Nancy reads "The Helper":



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Nancy confesses: "As a caseworker for the State of New Jersey, I never knew what I'd find on a home inspection. What I saw seemed unfortunate, yet benign, so imagine my surprise when he was arrested. We could never be sure what was behind a door or what any person was capable of doing."

NANCY SCOTT has been managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets for more than a decade and is the author of nine books of poetry. Her most recent, Ah Men (Aldrich Press, 2016) is a retrospective on the men who have influenced her life. She had a long career as a social worker for the State of New Jersey. which inspired many of her poems. Orginally from the Chicago area, she has resided in New Jersey for many years, but considers herself a Midwesterner. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

DAY OF JUDGMENT

My father did not try to stop me.
I think he’s proud
one of his children will enter Paradise.

Dark-eyed houris
will kiss my bleeding wounds,
cloak me in a hulla robe.

O, Allah, I have lived by your words.
I wish to leave this bitter earth: scorched
sand, dust, uprooted olive trees, old men
staring into cracked coffee cups.

Land that imprisoned my brother,
beat my uncle senseless near Ramallah,
turned our home to rubble.

In the camp of my youth, my grandmother’s
swelled fingers peeling an orange,
tattered books we shared with others,
my father struggling every day to feed us.

Last night I prayed
with comrades near Bethlehem
for the strength
to carry out my mission.

They say at the first drop
of blood, my sins will be forgiven.


Gerald So reads "Day of Judgment":



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Nancy confesses: "Although I wrote this poem a few years ago, it still feels relevant today. When endless hostilities become the norm, it made me wonder what beliefs or rationales could ultimately convince a young Palestinian to become a suicide bomber."

NANCY SCOTT is managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets and author of nine books of poetry. Her most recent, Ah Men (Aldrich Press, 2016) is a retrospective on the men who have influenced her life. She is also a visual artist and a frequent contributor to The Five-Two. Originally from the Chicago area, she now resides in New Jersey. www.nancyscott.net

Nancy Scott

THE PORK PIE, THE CANDY BAR, AND THE GLASS OF COLD MILK (OR LETTER FROM GLOUCESTER COUNTY JAIL)

Why I ended up in jail is no mystery. After months of listening to those more glib than I at making predictions, I began plotting my future. However when asked if I preferred the pork pie, the candy bar, or the glass of cold milk, I was flummoxed.

As spring finished and summer wore on, mine became a solitary quest. Nothing was the same—the milk curdled, the pork pie went rancid, and the candy bar disappeared—I blame myself for not being vigilant. Frustrated, I took a gun and started shooting at random, hitting a man with a briefcase in the leg.

Despite predictions to the contrary, the house suddenly went up in flames and everything perished. With the fate of the stolen candy unknown, no option remained. I had fired a gun based on a faulty premise. The man I shot understood and didn’t press charges. I thought that was the end of it.

The prosecutor, an elected official, thought differently. I was convicted, not for the shooting, but for failing to make the proper choice. I might have bluffed my way out of all this had the cops apprehended the candy thief in a timely way. After a lengthy interrogation, she admitted to eating the chocolate and got a $5 fine.


Nancy reads "The Pork Pie, the Candy Bar, and the Glass of Cold Milk..."



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Nancy confesses: "The spectacle of the primaries became a daily fix—lying, stupidity, meanness, shouting, narcissism fueled my indecision about whom to vote for, but in a country where we have had to fight and sometimes die for the right to vote, not voting feels like a crime. Satire seemed one way to deal with what was going on."

NANCY SCOTT, the managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets, is the author of nine books of poetry. Her most recent, Ah, Men (Aldrich Press, 2016) is a retrospective of the men in her life. Her poetry and short fiction have appeared in more than 100 different journals as well as numerous times on this site. She is also an artist, exhibiting her collages and mixed media in juried shows throughout New Jersey and Pennsylvania. www.nancyscott.net.

Nancy Scott

SNIPPING BUTTONS

Mother brought two identical outfits
into the dressing room, whipped out
manicure scissors and filched
fancy buttons from one of them.
I was her lookout, peeking around
the curtain for a looming clerk.
Coast clear, Mother snipped and
snipped, then zipped those buttons
into a hidden pocket in her purse.
Your grandma taught me this trick.
Think of the expense to buy
a whole new set for every lost button.
With the stripped garment returned
to the rack, Mother warned me
not to look guilty—don't fidget
or play with your hair—
then she sashayed up to the cashier
and gushed over her purchase.
When it became my turn to snip,
I'd been outwitted. Manufacturers
now attach extra buttons to linings.
Not sure why I've kept
those scissors; no point now
passing them on to my daughter.


Nancy reads "Snipping Buttons":



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Nancy confesses: "When I was young, petty crimes loomed large. My father liked to speed. I was often with him when he got out of a ticket with a ten dollar bill. Although my parents taught me right from wrong, they omitted the nuances. I was convinced they were headed straight for hell."

NANCY SCOTT is managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets, the journal of the U.S.1 Poets' Cooperative in New Jersey. She is the author of seven books of poetry. The eighth, The Owl Prince (a chapbook of retold fairy tales), was published in 2015 by Aldrich Press. She is also an artist. Her poetry and artwork can be found at www.nancyscott.net.

Best of the Net 2015

I've submitted six Five-Two poems for Sundress Publications' 2015 Best of the Net anthology consideration. Because I believe every poem I accept is the best, I had Twitter users pick three of the six:

Five-Two fans, choose 3 of the poems we send to @SundressPub's Best of the Net. Favorite tweets w/ hashtag #BestPoemsOnCrime to vote.

— The Five-Two (@PoemsOnCrime) July 9, 2015

Here are the three most-Favorited poems, along with three of my choice, in the order they were published at The Five-Two:

• "The Alphabet of Murder" by Nancy Scott
• "First Grade Criminal" by Anne Graue
• "You Didn't Mean to Kill Anyone" by Roger Netzer
• "Star Wars: Dark Forces Re-Awaken..." by Elizabeth Lash
• "We Didn't Know" by Bill Baber
• "Love Me Like a Murder Scene" by Sara J. Tantlinger

Congratulations and good luck to all.

Nancy Scott

THE GREAT STEAK HEIST AT TRENTON HIGH

I'd been sent to interview the kid,
ask him why he'd stolen eight steaks
from the cafeteria freezer.

Run-down school, flaking paint, black
mold, cops patrolling the corridors—
my guess, the kid was hungry.

No one in the office could find the kid's
class schedule or remembered seeing him.
He was found hunkered in the john.

"I shouldn't a done it, but they looked so good,"
he said. "We get fed crap in the cafeteria
while they eat steak. Seem right to you?"

It didn't, but I was trying to remain neutral.

"You take all the steaks?" I asked.
"Just what we could carry," he replied.
"Wasn't the freezer locked?"

"Me and Julian used a tire iron to break the lock.
We didn't know what we'd find in the freezer.
We was just hungry."

"How did you get a tire iron past the cops?"
"Easy. We got into a fight outside
while another kid sneaked in the tire iron.

"At closing bell, me and Julian hid
in a broom closet, then opened the freezer,
took the steaks and ran out a side door in the gym."

"How did you get caught?"
"The kid who brought the tire iron ratted us out
'cause we forgot to give him a steak."

"What do your parents think about this?"
"They don't know 'cause I live with my gran,"
the kid said. "She’s really old and don't know

half the stuff that goes on.
When she went to church, I cooked
a steak and ate it. Gave the rest away."

"Was it worth it?"
"Yes, ma'am,” he said. "I never ate no steak before."

I filed my report. I wanted to know why
there were steaks in the freezer.
I couldn't do anything for the kid.

He got suspended for two weeks and the cops
arrested him. You just knew
they wanted to hang a felony on him.

I hope the kid is all right.


Nancy reads "The Great Steak Heist at Trenton High":



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Nancy confesses: "Twenty-five years ago, I worked for the State of New Jersey in a child abuse and neglect unit. I was sent to investigate this event for possible child neglect. I remember it clearly against the backdrop of what's happening to black teenage boys in America today. Back then, with two teenage sons who are black, I had that conversation about how they should act if they encountered the police. Nothing has changed."

NANCY SCOTT is managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets, the journal of the U.S.1 Poets' Cooperative in New Jersey. She is the author of seven books of poetry. The eighth, The Lanky Fisherman or Why the Winter Wind Howls over Mersey Lake (a chapbook of retold fairy tales) is forthcoming from Aldrich Press in late 2014. She is also an artist. Her poetry and artwork can be found at www.nancyscott.net.

Nancy Scott

THE ALPHABET OF MURDER

In the morning news:
A was convicted of murdering her third husband B forty years ago.
At the time, A didn't have much invested in B.
They'd only been married three months.
A shot B in the back of the head, because she thought B
was about to assault her two-year-old daughter C, a child
from her second marriage.
Police believe B had come off a night shift and wanted to sleep
and may just have been trying to quiet C who was crying.
A bundled B's body and carted it to a place where she
and her second husband, D, the father of C, worked as caretakers.
Shortly afterward, A married her fourth husband E,
who apparently was unaware of what had happened to B.
The pair, A and E, lived quietly for decades,
until the police discovered that E had murdered his ex-wife F
and his two sons G and H after he'd married A.
E explained that F was harassing him about his marriage to A
and E didn't know any other way to make F stop.
Now in their mid-seventies, A and E have confessed.
They have been sentenced to life without parole.
Whereabouts of second husband D and daughter C are unknown.


Nancy reads "The Alphabet of Murder":



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Nancy confesses: "A version of these events was published online at the Huffington Post as a true crime story. In this poem I attempted to diagram what I had read in the article because I was having trouble making sense of the logistics of what happened and when."

NANCY SCOTT is managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets, the journal of the U.S.1 Poets' Cooperative in New Jersey. She is the author of seven books of poetry. The eighth, The Lanky Fisherman or Why the Winter Wind Howls over Mersey Lake (a chapbook of retold fairy tales) is forthcoming from Aldrich Press in late 2014. She is also an artist. Her poetry and artwork can be found at www.nancyscott.net.

Nancy Scott

AT HOME IN ABBOTTABAD, PAKISTAN

America, will you remember this—
two goats, a dozen eggs, three wives,
and a flock of children?
After the storm boots, explosion and fire,
no one cared about the eggs in the sink,
except the camera panning the rooms.
A different story for the children,
some left without a father, tucked away
behind high walls, a blessing given the chaos
in the country—floods, bombs, shootings.
Theft too. You stole their father's body
and looted his home. And the wives'
endless quarreling over having to feed
more than twenty-five mouths.
When those bullets entered his body,
perhaps you did them a favor.


Nancy reads "At Home in Abbottabad, Pakistan":



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Nancy confesses: "When all the news was circulating about the death of bin Laden, I was especially drawn to a photojournalism account of what the cameras recorded when they entered the grounds. I was struck by the domesticity of the scene embodied in the image of a dozen eggs in the sink and despite everything else, how protected the children were in the walled compound."

NANCY SCOTT is the managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets, the journal of the U.S.1 Poets' Cooperative in New Jersey. She is also the author of six books of poetry, her most recent Midwestern Memories is forthcoming from Aldrich Press in 2014. Her poetry has appeared recently in The Voices Project, Raven Chronicles, Verse Wisconsin, Journal of New Poets, Exit 13, and Slant. She lives in Lawrenceville, New Jersey. www.nancyscott.net

Day 23: In Reference to Murder

Longtime friend and fellow mystery-loving poet B.V. Lawson flashes back to The 5-2's inaugural poem on Day 23 of 30 Days of The 5-2.

Nancy Scott

ON THE DAY A FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD DISAPPEARED IN OJAI, CALIFORNIA

one person knew her body was in a drain pipe
in a culvert at marker 44 on Maricopa Highway

the teen may have thought it hip to snort coke, drink wine
coolers, and have sex with a 22-year-old married man

she was warned he was armed, liked to prey on young girls
she snuck out, got into his green truck, and ended up dead

at sixteen I dated a 22-year-old Army sergeant, we smoked
Luckies, drank beer, and necked, that’s as far as we went

it's possible he’d killed Korean children by accident, perhaps
on command. I didn’t ask, he’d never tell. He got promoted

returned home with medals; the other will die in state prison
does it matter whether she lay in a drain or rice paddy

or under a bridge where parents threw their bodies across her
dead is dead


Nancy reads "On the day a fourteen-year-old disappeared...":



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Nancy confesses: "This poem was compiled from two newspaper reports: one from Ojai, California, dated December, 1998, and the other about an episode where American troops slaughtered South Korean civilians at a bridge at No Gun Ri in 1950."

NANCY SCOTT is the current managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets, the journal of the U.S.1 Poets' Cooperative in New Jersey. She is the author five books of poetry, her most recent, On Location, a collection of ekphrastic poems about works of art, was published by March Street Press in 2011. Her work has appeared in print journals, such as Slant, Mudfish, Witness, and New York Quarterly, and online at Segue, qarrtsiluni, Pemmican, and The BluePrint Review. More at www.nancyscott.net.

John M. Floyd

TINSELTOWN

The new bartender was a guy
dressed in a well-cut suit and tie.
Sue blinked. "Hey, aren't you Peter Gunn?"
"I used to be, in '61."
"What happened, there? I liked that show."
"The guy who played me had to go."
"So you're Craig Stevens?" she replied.
"No, I'm the character. Craig died."
"The character? For real?" asked Sue.
Gunn shrugged. "Don't I look real to you?"
"But you were once a superstar!"
"A fallen star, now tending bar."
"So all this time, you've been right here?"
"Long story. Want another beer?"
When refilled, Sue inquired again,
"So what all have you done, since then?"
"Well, two producers died one night."
"I heard. They both got poisoned, right?"
"I was accused; I left L.A.
and caught a boat and sailed away."
Sue sipped her brew and asked, "With who?"
"With Gilligan, the Skipper too."
"You hid out on another show?"
"I lived there forty years or so."
"You stayed on, after they were done?"
"An island beach, a naked Gunn."
"So now you're back. Still wanted, right?"
"And undetected, till tonight."
Sue said, with a malicious grin,
"Aren't you afraid I'll turn you in?"
Then gagging, she fell to the floor.
Gunn smiled and said, "Not anymore."


John reads "Tinseltown":



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John confesses: "This poem came from my fond memories of old TV series of the fifties and sixties (The Untouchables, Peter Gunn, 77 Sunset Strip, etc.), and from daydreaming about what might happen if someone bumped into one of those long-lost characters in real life."


Guest editor's ruling: "I like the fallen hero premise of this poem, especially in view of the John Edwards trial, and also the wit and delicious twist of it. I remember the Peter Gunn series. Home with a young child, I watched a lot of TV in those days, and oh, what a classy escape that series was." —Nancy Scott

JOHN M. FLOYD's work has appeared in more than 200 different publications, including The Strand Magazine, Woman's World, Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, and Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. A Derringer Award winner and three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, he is also the author of three books: Rainbow's End (2006), Midnight (2008), and Clockwork (2010).

Guest Editor: Nancy Scott

Nancy Scott is the current managing editor of U.S. 1 Worksheets, the journal of the U.S. 1 Poets' Cooperative in New Jersey. She is the author five books of poetry. Her most recent, On Location, a collection of ekphrastic poems about works of art, was published by March Street Press in 2011. I reprinted Nancy's poem "The Shearling" in The Lineup #4. Her "Smack" was the inaugural 5-2 Poem of The Week, and "The Hardest Thing" will run April 16.

As The 5-2's first guest editor, Nancy chose the Poem of the Week for May 28–June 3, 2012, "Tinseltown" by John M. Floyd.