David Anson Lee

TAX EXEMPT

The chapel carries a donor’s name
carved deep enough to outlive theology.

So does the stadium,
the laboratory,
the business school where futures are priced
in credit hours and compound interest.

At orientation, freshmen are issued
lanyards, passwords, a map
that loops back to debt.

The university expands like a body
forgetting where pain begins:
roots descending from branches,
branches feeding roots,
a system that mistakes growth for virtue.

The adjunct teaches in the blue light
of a refrigerator open too long.

Somewhere, a quarterback signs autographs
beneath a screen the size of weather.

At commencement, caps rise
like startled birds released too early
into air they cannot afford.

Years later,
the birds return
as monthly statements
that never learned mercy.


Gerald So's YouTube reading of "Tax Exempt"


David confesses: "This poem emerged from observing how moral responsibility can be obscured when harm is mediated through systems that are legally protected yet ethically ambiguous. I was interested in how language of exemption can also function as a form of emotional distancing."

DAVID ANSON LEE is a retired ophthalmologist, educator, and poet born on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. A former endowed chair and professor of ophthalmology, his poems explore medicine, ethics, identity, history, and the hidden costs of institutional life. His work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies.

Jennifer Lagier

APOCALYPSE NOW

Ooh war, I despise
'Cause it means destruction of innocent lives
War means tears, to thousands of mother's eyes
When their sons go off to fight and lose their lives

–lyrics to the song "War" by Edwin Starr


Morning headlines announce anti-war icon,
Country Joe McDonald has died.
We remember his name from Vietnam,
Woodstock, the Fish cheer, Veterans for Peace.
As our government mimics Nazi Germany,
pacificists mourn loss of charismatic leaders,
lament Reverand Jesse Jackson’s passing.

Targeting an Iranian girls’ school,
the U.S. annihilates students and teachers,
massacres civilians as part of a campaign
to distract from full Epstein files disclosure.
Online photos of open graves
illustrate the magnitude of our moral failures.

In the Pacific Ocean,
heavily armed military operations
burn through taxpayer dollars,
ignore due process to assassinate fishermen
they suspect to be drug runners,
deliberately slaughter frantically waving survivors.

Washington D.C. resembles a festering sewer
where the rich and powerful buy politicians,
pervert rule of law, protect their own interests.
Daily, the body count rises.
Our country’s crimes against humanity
continue to burgeon.


Jennifer's YouTube reading of "Apocalypse Now"


Jennifer confesses: "Here we go again, another senseless war based on lies, designed to distract from the corruption and malfeasance of the current administration."

JENNIFER LAGIER lives a block from the stage where Jimi Hendrix torched his guitar. She has published twenty-five books and in a variety of anthologies and literary magazines. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, edited the Homestead Review, currently edits the Monterey Poetry Review, helps publicize Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Saturday readings. Website: jlagier.net, Facebook: www.facebook.com/JenniferLagier/

F.I. Goldhaber

LUNCH

Sorry to learn that your cat disappeared.
It is always best to keep felines and
other pets safe inside. Because there are
majestic Red-tail hawks circling above
who don't distinguish between fur-covered
prey. They just snatch another tasty meal;
their nature and hunger absolving their crime.


F.I.'s YouTube reading of "Lunch"


F.I. confesses: "'Lunch' was inspired by missing pet flyers constantly posted in a neighborhood where Red-tail (as well as Cooper's and Swainson's) hawks and coyotes regularly hunt. In reality, the true criminals are pet owners who allow their furry wards to wander unsupervised and thereby put their lives at risk."

F.I. GOLDHABER's words capture people, places, and politics with a photographer's eye and a poet's soul. As a reporter, editor, and business writer, they produced news stories, feature articles, editorial columns, and reviews for newspapers, corporations, governments, and non-profits in five states. Now paper, plastic, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, broadsides, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. Almost 260 of their poems appear in more than 90 publications including What Color is Your Privilege?, their political poetry collection published by Left Fork press. http://www.goldhaber.net/

Chad Parenteau

RUDY GIULIANI MUTTERS DURING HIS LAST RITES

If I could get
building-big
like I did for
that Time Man
of the Year cover,
I could finally
get a look at
Lady Liberty’s
underpants.
That’s the one
problem being
an inside man.
No more time to
grope underneath.
I’m not finished
yet. I just want
to stay around
and do one last
act, something
only I can do
to changes lives
forever. Good
bad, does that
matter anymore?
Just give me
one last clasp
to undo before
they undo unto me.


Chad's YouTube reading of "Rudy Giuliani Mutters..."


Chad confesses: "This is my newest poem about Rudy. I’ve become obsessed with his legacy, which took less than two decades to completely shatter when it seemed like 9/11 made him forever untouchable. I don't we don't have to wait another twenty years for the rest of the gold-plated calves to collapse."

CHAD PARENTEAU hosts Boston’s long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His work has appeared in journals such as Résonancee, Molecule, Ibbetson Street, Pocket Lint, Cape Cod Poetry Review, Tell-Tale Inklings, Off The Coast, The Crossroads, The Skinny Poetry Journal, The Rye Whiskey Review, dadakuku, Nixes Mate Review, and The Ugly Monster. He has also been published in anthologies such as French Connections, Sounds of Wind, Reimagine America, and The Vagabond Lunar Collection. His newest collections are All's Well Isn't You and Cant Republic: Erasures and Blackouts. He serves as Associate Editor of the online journal Oddball Magazine and co-organizer of the annual Boston Poetry Marathon. He lives and works in Boston.

Robert Cooperman

ICE SOLVES THE LINE DELAY DILEMMA AT MAJOR AIRPORTS

We examine drivers’ licenses,
passports, and faces, and listen
to them talking, or if they stink
of garlic, and if the name’s
Hispanic or Arabic, or just weird,
we hustle them to a remote site,
and quietly dispose of them.

Saves a lot of time and trouble,
and gets rid of the bullshit need
for immigration lawyers: trained
to break the law on behalf of illegals,
who, by definition, are all criminals,
sneaking into our great country
like rats gnawing into flour sacks.

Of course, this info is all hush-hush.
If it ever got out, we’d be up to our asses
in bleeding heart libbos bleating,

“Murder!” And other nonsense.

And since we’re not paid
for this patriotic and civic duty,
we get to keep the confiscated luggage.
Hell, the rollies alone go for hundreds:
perfect for transporting illicit drugs
into and out of the country.

God Bless America!


Gerald So's YouTube reading of "ICE Solves..."


Cooperman confesses: "After ICE murdered three American citizens and after seeing newspaper photos and TV footage of the lines to get through security at airports, it hit me that a Swiftian "Modest Proposal" solution for the TSA bottlenecks was in order. Hence, my suggestion for ICE to do what it does best (or worst): just kill anyone who doesn't look sufficiently American to them."

ROBERT COOPERMAN's latest collection is An Oar for Odysseus; his latest chapbook is August 24, 1957.

Peter M. Gordon

CARNY

‘Scuse me while I light up.
You want one? Ain’t a lot
of jobs that lets yiz smoke

and work. ‘Course that ain’t
the only reason this Midway’s
the best job I ever had.

When I hustled the short con,
a mark squealed and I spent
two years in the can. Here,

marks pay admission just so’s
we can take them. I’ve seen good
looking guys drop fifty just

to win their girl one of them stuffed
gorillas that cost us three bucks,
an’ when they don’t win, go get

a beer and drop another fifty.
All I gotta do is stand here
an’ hand ‘em three softballs.

We ain’t in town long enough
to get in real trouble an’ if we
got a small beef, local bulls

we pay for security just say
to leave town. Oh, this carny
life’s for me. If I gotta hit

the pie-car, say, for a snack or pack
of ciggies, another carny covers.
I got food, family, an’ a job for life.

Some say carnivals are dyin’
but I see more marks than ever
linin’ up to stuff green in our

grouch bags. I ain’t quittn’;
I’m gonna die here. Lemme light
up again. Sure you don’t want one?


Peter's YouTube reading of "Carny"


Peter confesses: "I've spent a lot of time over the years at the Central Florida Fair here in Orlando and enjoy attending county and state fairs when they're on in towns I'm visiting. I've long been fascinated by the people that work the fairs, traveling from town to town, and even though they are often suspicious of locals, some have opened up to me. The voice of this persona poem is an amalgam of several different conversations I had."

PETER M. GORDON is an award-winning poet with over 200 poems published in various journals. He's authored three collections, and is a founder and past President of Orlando Area Poets, a chapter of the Florida State Poets Association. Peter has taught workshops on writing and publishing poetry in several Florida cities. He teaches in Full Sail University's Film Production MFA program.

Charles Rammelkamp

DONALD TRUMPSKY

“I have never rated Stalin
so highly as to be able to hate him,”
Leon Trotsky once observed,
the best-known leftwing critic
of Stalinism in the world,
dismissing his rival as tawdry, unworthy,
no doubt pissing off thin-skinned Uncle Joe,
who invoked Trotsky’s name
throughout the Moscow show trials,
the Great Purge of the late thirties:
Leon the sinister source of all disloyalty, sabotage,
the classic purveyor of fake news.

Founder and commander of the Red Army,
Trotsky lost the power struggle
after Lenin’s death in 1924,
ended up in exile in Mexico,
after a year in Alma-Ata in Central Asia,
then Turkey, France, Norway.

Stalin’s agents tracked him down.
But he survived a machine-gun attack
just as he’d survived prison and Siberia
as far back as 1900,
a proverbial cat with nine lives.
But on August 20, 1940, 
NKVD agent Mercador did him in
with an ice-ax blow to the skull
outside his compound in Coyoacan.
So Uncle Joe finally got his revenge
against the fake news.
Take THAT, Crooked Hillary! Take THAT, Sleepy Joe!


Charles's YouTube reading of "Donald Trumpsky"


Charles confesses: "Donald Trump seems to have the same brutal instincts and lack of self-humor as Joseph Stalin and given the opportunity will no doubt exercise the same ruthlessness; he already has. Talk about “show trials” – Trump’s (against Letitia James, Jim Comey, Mark Kelly, etc., etc.) have basically been joke trials."

CHARLES RAMMELKAMP is Prose Editor for BrickHouse Books in Baltimore. His collection, The Tao According to Calvin Coolidge, was recently published by Kelsay Books.

Tony Dawson

HEGSETH

What shall we do with the drunken “soldier”,
What shall we do with the drunken “soldier”,
What shall we do with the drunken “soldier”,
Early in the morning?
Put him in charge of the Pentagon,
Put him in charge of the Pentagon,
Put him in charge of the Pentagon,
And blow up the whole world.


Tony's YouTube reading of "Hegseth"


Tony confesses: "The military’s pumped-up fire-breathing dragon, gung-ho Hegseth, brainless head of the Pentagon and War Sec, is all for initiating Armageddon. Macho man says the rules of engagement are woke. The man’s a joke."

TONY DAWSON, an English writer, has been living in Seville since 1989 and continues to publish widely in the USA, UK and Australia since he took up writing during the pandemic. Many of his poems have been published as three small collections:

Afterthoughts ISBN 9788119 228348, published by Cyberwit.net. First edition: 2023 and reviewed at: https://londongrip.co.uk/2023/06/london-grip-poetry-review-tony-dawson/

Musings ISBN 97819115 819666, published by Impspired. First edition: December 2023 and reviewed at: https://londongrip.co.uk/2023/12/london-grip-poetry-review-tony-dawson-2/

and Reflections in a Dirty Mirror ISBN 9781915819949 also published by Impspired. First Edition: April 2024and reviewed at: https://londongrip.co.uk/2024/04/london-grip-poetry-review-tony-dawson-3/

In addition, he has written a number of pieces of flash fiction, a selection of which appeared in Curiouser and Curiouser ISBN 9788119 654932, published by Cyberwit.net. First edition: 2023.

Ed Robson

NOLO CONTENDERE

Your honor, I just want to say, it isn’t right, what’s happening.
We’re getting so PC, I can’t find anyplace to have a smoke,
not even in my car. That’s what this case is really all about.
I’m not a reckless driver; how the officer got that idea,
I don’t know, when everywhere I go, I see folks driving on
the sidewalk, in the ditch, but they don’t see them, no, it’s me they stop
the minute I light up a smoke.

But that and coffee in the morning, what could be more natural?
This one day, I’m just finishing my breakfast on the morning drive,
and punching buttons, trying to play a CD on the stereo.
The car is new, you see, and so I have to ask my wife, “Where’s that
danged owner’s manual?” She goes, “It’s in the glove box, duh.” I’m like,
“Where it belongs? Who knew?” And she texts me right back,
“Well, I did, duh,”
which makes me laugh so hard I almost drop my chopsticks. But the
traffic’s getting heavy on the pike, which always makes me nervous, and
the owners’ guide’s in Japanese. (Can you see why I’d need a smoke?
And it’s my own car, after all.)

But then I notice that I’m running just a wee bit late, so I
start shaving while I listen to the lesson on irregular
verb forms—I guess that’s most of them in Russian—but while scrambling
for exact change so that I won’t have to slow way down to pay my toll,
I slosh my coffee, which if I don’t wipe it all up, Bernadette
will kill me, cause it’s her car, too, and the upholstery’s still pristine,
(well mostly, anyhow), but then I change lanes kinda sudden, cause
my left arm’s caught inside my sleeve, and wind up at the wrong booth,
where, would you believe, the girl just quit? I guess the stress got to her, all that honking, cursing, screeching brakes. So it’s her fault I broke the gate.
But if I put my shirt on first, before I shave, I end up with
my collar full of shaving cream.

So now I’m asking Bernadette, “Do we have band-aids?” And she’s like,
“They’re right there in the console, duh,
and don’t you bleed on my new car."
I say, “It’s these damned Russian verbs, they make my Adam’s apple bob
just when the straight blade’s on my neck.” But by the time I staunch the
bleeding, finish up my kung pao chicken, gulp the last swig of my coffee,
get the knot right on my tie, and—finally!—start to light that smoke,
just as I pull into the lot of Angus Elementary,
all them blue lights in my rear-view get me so freaked out, I choke
and spill bong water in my lap, so when I get inside, all my
first graders think I wet my pants. Now, what’s that gonna do to their
respect for my authority? I realize right then, it’s time
for me to start my new career.

So, dasvidaniya, Judge; you won’t see me again. The agency—
oh yes, you know the one I mean—they’re sending me to Moscow, where
I hear the cops just do their job and keep the crazies off the road,
instead of writing tickets on a good, hardworking citizen
who only wants the right to catch a nice, relaxing, morning buzz
while driving in his OWN DAMNED CAR!


Ed's YouTube reading of "Nolo Contendere"


Ed confesses: ""Nolo Contendere' was inspired by the rising numbers of accidents caused by distracted drivers. Most prominent in the statistics are cell phone users, but we all see people eating, applying makeup, and doing many other activities incompatible with keeping their eyes on the road."

ED ROBSON retired after 30 years practicing psychology so he could write full-time. He earned his MFA from U. of Central Arkansas in 2021, suffered a heart attack in 2023, and got his groove back in 2025 paragliding in Guatemala. Now he spends his time restoring neglected houses with his wife, winning poetry slams, cooking for his friends, singing in his UU Fellowship choir, and writing like his life is on the line. His first poetry collection, Carping Every Diem, will be published in May 2026 by Bramble Press.

Diane Sahms

no. 9 [state of affairs, america]

into the unknown, late one march afternoon
shuttered with concerns, you lean against a thought

sky littered or is it tethered by brilliant hopeful clouds:
lavender, rose with linings of supreme golden truths.

to press your ear to roots and seeds on a listening ground
wonder everyone’s wonder: where are we headed—

when justice undresses into brutality?
when communal morals are plowed-in, time and time again

and the silence of trees forecasts more injustices.
above wisdom’s brow, moon wrinkles in deep furrows.

city streets persist, insist on liberty.


Diane's YouTube reading of "no. 9 [state of affairs, america]"


Diane confesses: "This poem was triggered by the brutality of ICE agents in Minnesota and elsewhere in our country. I believe Americans are truly concerned about the direction of our country and are questioning the loss of truth and justice. However, 'city streets persist, insist on liberty,' as Americans will not be silenced."

DIANE SAHMS, a native Philadelphian, is the author of nine poetry collections, latest —of an octopus: an archite|x|tural awareness of words, Carbonation Press, 2026. Awarded first place in Judith Stark’s Poetry Contest and Partisan Press’s Working People’s Poetry Contest, she is the recipient of AEVentures Foundation’s Poetry Grant. Published in North American Review, Northern Virginia Review, Brushfire, Valley Voices, Sequestrum, Chiron Review, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, The New Verse News, Ranger Magazine, Amsterdam Review and elsewhere, with poems forthcoming from Abstract Magazine: Contemporary Expressions. Poetry Editor at North of Oxford, she has worked as a Contract Specialist for the government and as a high school English teacher. https://dianesahmsguarnieri.wordpress.com and http://www.dianesahms-guarnieri.com/

G. Emil Reutter

SENSELESS ACTIONS OF A MAD MAN

Our ships are massed on the sea near Iran as
bombs and missiles drop by the thousands upon
the land, bad guys killed… more innocents in the
numbers in a war that no one can explain… or
can they.

Why?
Why?
Why?

Servicemen and women killed in the line of duty
for what?

What?
What?
What?

Oil... China... Epstein?

Or the senseless actions of a mad man!


g.'s YouTube reading of "Senseless Actions of a Mad Man"


g. confesses nothing.

G. EMIL REUTTER is a writer of stories and poems. He can be found at https://gereutter.wordpress.com/about/

Susan L. Pollet

FALLING FROM THE SKY

It was March of 2026
as they sat in bomb shelters with
their families, if they were lucky
enough to have that option,
in their respective countries,
captives of the leaders making
decisions once in power,
mostly without their say,
what rained from the sky competed
with nature’s most furious storm

To those below, it felt that they had
little control whether made by man
or made by the physical world, as
they smiled through clenched teeth,
prayed in different languages for
deliverance, and told themselves
they would get through this latest
assault on what was left of
the ‘dignity of man’


Gerald So's YouTube reading of "Falling from the Sky"


Susan confesses: "This poem was inspired by the tense global atmosphere of early 2026, when ordinary people in many countries felt trapped between powerful leaders and forces beyond their control. Images of families in shelters, fear falling from the sky, and fragile human dignity reflect anxiety about war, vulnerability, and the resilience people cling to during crisis."

SUSAN L. POLLET is a published author of books in multiple genres and a fine artist who is a member of the Arts Student’s League in New York City. Susan’s poetry and art have been published in multiple literary publications and in on-line shows.

Hana Kelly

BASAL CLEAVAGE OF A DRUGSTORE DOLLAR

there it stands:
hunger
open-mouthed and gaping.
a hole in the ground full
of glossy, shiny things like teeth
or fangs
or mica
ready to eat our youth

and there they go
into the deep darkness
of its throat
small bodies in an open maw
small hands prepped for extraction
into a maze of windpipes for
the earth to breathe;

and they breathe each other in,
dust and sweat and blood,
the children and the mines.
for one tiny moment
in the shadowy hollow
a constellation underground,
pressing in on them

but these stars bite, are rabid.
small hands fit better into
muzzles
grope in the grit-fogged gloom
for sharp, pretty sheets of mica

for handfuls of rupees,
for a short escape
from hunger,
the risk of collapse—
lung or wall or world.
for the shimmer of tears
from a bereft mother,
still hungry,
still with other small mouths to feed.

for the glitter and sparkle
of pretty maquillage
on a plump American face.
and only a few American dollars.
how small a price to pay.


Hana's YouTube reading of "Basal Cleavage of a Drugstore Dollar"


Hana confesses: "This poem is inspired by mica mining in India, where poverty is used to keep a system of unethical and child labor practices in place. Unchecked capitalism will always have a victim. Learn more: https://www.fairplanet.org/story/child-labour-in-mica-mines-the-beauty-industrys-dark-secret/"

HANA KELLY lives in Atlanta and recently graduated from Georgia State University with a B.A. in English. When she is not writing speculative or surreal fiction, she’s reading it. Catch up with her on Instagram @hanamkelly.

Craig Kirchner

RIGHT

Liam will be back,
not because a judge ordered it,
but because it is right
that he be reunited with
all that he was taken from,
and right will win this war,
ultimately right will win,
and he will be home, happy.

I dreamt about Hell,
amazing since I don’t believe
in Heaven or Hell.
There were special wings,
named after the greats,
designated as to deviancy
murderers, wife beaters,
child molesters and ICE.

In the dream Putin dies,
massive heart attack.
Russians filled the streets of Moscow,
crowds in every major city
celebrated, rejoiced –
it seemed right.
The flag at the White House
was at half-staff.

Vlad was immediately directed
to the Hitler wing.
He asked the commandant
if any of his friends
would be coming here.
No, there are special cots for them
in the Epstein wing.
You will be better off here
and you can believe it.


Craig's YouTube reading of "Right"


Craig confesses: "To do anything to traumatize a five-year-old is not right, it’s not Christian, and anyone that thinks its American has something fundamentally wrong with them. The terrorists responsible, all of them, will find a special place reserved in hell."

CRAIG KIRCHNER loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. He has been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig has an interview up at Spillword and can be found on Bluesky.

F.I. Goldhaber

STAIN
A Fibonacci poem

You
can
wash blood
from your skin,
walls, and floors. Launder
it from most clothing. But rugs are
problematic. So they removed all the carpeting.


F.I.'s YouTube reading of "Stain"


F.I. confesses nothing.

F.I. GOLDHABER's words capture people, places, and politics with a photographer's eye and a poet's soul. As a reporter, editor, and business writer, they produced news stories, feature articles, editorial columns, and reviews for newspapers, corporations, governments, and non-profits in five states. Now paper, plastic, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, broadsides, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. More than 250 of their poems appear in almost 100 publications including What Color is Your Privilege?, their political poetry collection published by Left Fork press. http://www.goldhaber.net/

State of The Five-Two

There were no submissions for a few weeks, so I paused the Poem of the Week for March, resuming March 30 to usher in April, National Poetry Month, when the site gets more attention.

As always, I'm open to poems about notorious and little-known wrongdoing, true or fictional, any style or form. Thanks for your consideration.

Caleb Merritt

ALLOW ME

Let me introduce you to Allergens. Let me open the door to invisible vibrancy. Was my name only that? I don’t care for it, that much, after all. It was, I suppose, useful. But did it mean anything? I don’t know. I only visibly support the American people. Their doughnuts. Their donuts. Their Sundays. Their Washington Monuments. A pyramid with a floating eye. The humor of something that Nate Piekos might write. I was delighted, after all, with that short drive, with the community-against-the-war, with the things we bring as parental composites of ourselves. Let me get the door for you.


Caleb's YouTube reading of "Allow Me"


Caleb confesses: "Broadly, I imagine I was curious in a meandering-about way on what privilege makes of allowing, allowances, and what we attempt to change. I wonder in what ways I unconsciously and unfortunately support the American people. And, as the poem notes, 'But did it mean anything? I don’t know.'"

CALEB MERRITT an artist living and working in the Treasure Valley.

Craig Kirchner

SATURDAY AT THE BEACH

I’m driving to the protest at the beach
thinking I’ve become that old man that
so many times I drove by and thought –
I never want to be like that.

I’m not on a walker or carrying a cane
but I hobble now instead of stride
and hunch over instead of strut -
and I realize I don’t have a sign.

I arrive early. A guy with ragged clothes
and scraggly beard has six signs on the ground
and without me asking says, Yeah, take one.
I choose – WE FIGHT FASCISM.

I ask him if he had been protesting long.
Since the sixties, he told me his age,
same as mine, and walked away when
I noticed his left leg was a prosthetic.

It stopped me – me driving here feeling
sorry for myself in my Banana Republic
button down, because I get shots in my knees,
and had out of pocket for cataracts.

After an hour of making friends, waving my sign,
I drag my sore knees back to the car,
turn on the radio to hear ICE killed an ICU nurse,
trying to help a woman avoid pepper spray.

Alex Pretti will not get to bitch about being
an old man, about his gel shots. His life stolen
by a cruelty normal in Nazi Germany,
but until recently not by an American agency.

I’ve become an old man, old enough
to be sure, to have the privilege, to die
as you are supposed to, maybe in your sleep,
hopefully surrounded by family.

I shuffled my bad knees out of the car, threw up
on the parking lot, cried, not much. I haven’t cried
since my father died 30 years ago, got the sign
out of the trunk and went back to the protest.


Craig's YouTube reading of "Saturday at the beach"


Craig confesses: "Minneapolis under siege, innocent citizens being killed by the Federal government with our tax dollars is the main thing motivating most Americans for the past month. Of course, there are also the Epstein victims and files the siege is probably supposed to make us forget. Make America America Again."

CRAIG KIRCHNER loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. He has been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig has an interview up at Spillword and can be found on Bluesky.

Jennifer Lagier

SAY HER NAME
For Renée Nicole Good

While stormtroopers terrorize our neighborhoods,
assault senior citizens, peaceful protestors,
a black-clad, masked man points his revolver
through Renee’s open window.

Armed with only her voice, conscience, and a whistle,
she attempts to leave the scene as instructed
in a family SUV filled with
children’s stuffed animals.

The soundtrack from witnesses’ videos
reveal her calmly telling the aggressive ICE agent
she isn’t mad at him.
He responds by pumping three shots
into her face, murdering a wife and mother.

Afterwards, he walks away,
snarls, “Fuck You, Bitch,”
the vicious philosophy
of his evil overlord’s
cruel administration.


Jennufer's YouTube reading of "Say Her Name"


Jennifer confesses: "Moral outrage compels me to speak out about this heinous murder of a woman by an armed assassin."

JENNIFER LAGIER has published twenty-five books. Her work appears in a variety of anthologies and literary magazines. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, edited the Homestead Review, currently edits the Monterey Poetry Review, helps publicize Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Saturday readings. Website: jlagier.net, Facebook: www.facebook.com/JenniferLagier/

F.I. Goldhaber

BREAK THE CYCLE
A Fibonacci poem

He
failed.
Again.
Make this the
last time. Replace him
immediately with someone who:
isn't a quisling, has a spine, is a capable
leader, fights fascism and Zionism, and is not doddering toward dementia.


F.I.'s YouTube reading of "Break the Cycle"


F.I. confesses nothing

F.I. GOLDHABER's words capture people, places, and politics with a photographer's eye and a poet's soul. As a reporter, editor, business writer, and marketing communications consultant, they produced news stories, feature articles, editorial columns, and reviews for newspapers, corporations, governments, and non-profits in five states. Now paper, plastic, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, broadsides, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. More than 240 of their poems appear in almost 90 publications including What Color is Your Privilege?, their political poetry collection published by Left Fork press. http://www.goldhaber.net/