Thirteen Myna Birds

15.

She Came in Through the Bathroom Window (Remix)

Slip-sliding over the sill

like a seal,

& wearing her lime & lemon

housedress,

Grandma-in-Tampa

waddles up to me

as I’m drinking day-old coffee

working on the computer,

leaving a wet glistening trail

behind her

on the hardwood floor.

She clasps me close,

damp & smelling

like the sea

till I relax & hold her

round the waist,

till I know I’m hugging

the same old woman

I loved who died.

Now she’s in the kitchen
fixing salads for our supper

though she never eats

a single bite.

~Eileen "MISH" Murphy~

(this poem previously appeared in Writing in a Woman's Voice, 2018)

(this poem currently appears in the NEW chapbook, "EVIL ME" by MISH, published by Blood Pudding Press and available HERE - https://www.etsy.com/shop/BloodPuddingPress)

*

14.

Grade School Reunion Memory House Dream

I hide in the closet
as it vibrates with Beatles tunes
& dirty dancing

& no music newer than the eighties

all kinds of toys, holiday decorations,

& bottles & sprays
have been shoved

into this gothic monster closet

outside of which Sister Mary Rose
like a withered spoon
stands too close to the door,
repeating, who’s in charge?

& where’s the dessert?

balloon pops make me jumpy

& I do think

of visiting my one friend

who died:

I would like to be able to watch
her PowerPoint shrine
nestled near the lunch buffet

knock knock

it’s my other friend
the childhood friend I forgot
she slowly opens the door

her wrinkled face

almost as ruined as mine

~Eileen "MISH" Murphy~

(this poem previously appeared in Whale Road Review, 2018)

(this poem currently appears in the NEW chapbook, "EVIL ME" by MISH, published by Blood Pudding Press and available HERE - https://www.etsy.com/shop/BloodPuddingPress)

13.

LAST NIGHT

Last night

I texted you a selfie

as you watched another

COVID patient flatline.

Last night

you sent me a selfie, too

your smile so tired

you texted

When will we quarantine together?

I guess when there’s a vaccine.

Last night

I held my own hand

lacing my fingers together

to ease the rock in my throat

to keep quarantine loneliness

at bay.

Until there’s a vaccine.

~Jennifer Shneiderman~

12.

Treatment

so bright we call it a sun so long

we call it a day nobody here wants to be

here we stay to stay out

of the sun epicenter

of the epidemic still

thoughts are hard to find to stay no

guarantee the rats will eat

the poison no guarantee this brightness

is the sun.

~Michael A. Griffith~

*

11.

Song of Ambient Sounds

The label very clearly states

alcohol may intensify the effect.

I wash the pills down with beer.

Angels hoot all night in a tree outside

the National Museum of Death.

Calamitous flower,

the melancholy

that floats up

from the depths,

what makes

some words a poem.

The sky bleeding at dusk,

and pale and blotchy at dawn,

a scrap yard of broken hearts.

~Howie Good~

*

10.

War Baby

A war ends. But what changes?

The magician, after all, doesn’t

actually make the card disappear.

On the birthing table, the red queen,

feet in the stirrups, mind full of rabies,

pushes and pants and pushes again.

Then, calmly and coldly, darkness falls.

The drunken angels clink glasses.

~Howie Good~

*

9.

Euphemistic

I’ve heard it called box,

snatch, snapper, muff,

beaver, pussy, honey pot,

cooch, slit, hoo-haw,

but never what I think it is,

the eve of everything,

dreams, myths, fables,

the philosophers of note

who ponder it bursting

now into tears, now into flames.

~Howie Good~

*

COUSIN

My cousin

not the one on my dad’s side

came into my bedroom

one fine thanksgiving

shut the door, and

locked it.

I was wearing my favorite

red and white dress

with the giant bow

stationed at the neck

and bigger than my head.

And this cousin-

The one assigned to say

grace up to God

for this year’s feast,

sat on my bed

and said

Close your legs.

You’re attracting flies.

I pushed him off the bed

unlocked the door

bolted out the back, ran

down the hill, scaled

up the tree

scuffing my patent

leather shoes

ripping my white tights,

and hid in my tree fort

forever

sobbing

spreading

my legs

looking

for flies.

They never came.

When Thanksgiving was over

and all the cars were gone

I returned to my house

trashed my clothes, and

cursed all things cousins.

Later

when my sister

and I were older

staring down the casket

of my cold, stiff cousin

I told her what he said

and how it landed

me in the fort, and

my dress in the trash, with

a hatred for thanksgiving

an aversion to cousins

a disdain for my legs

and everything in between

an obsession with flies, and

years of psychotherapy,

she said

Fucking Capricorn.

Only a

Capricorn

could take down

an entire

childhood

one

shot.

~C. Cropani~

*

7.

STUMP FINGER

Hey, Mr. What happened to your finger?

Eli! Maizy yelled. She pulled her brother by the arm.

But how did you get that funny stump?

How do you think I got a funny stump?

Did you fight in a war?

I don’t believe in war

Did you crash it in a car?

I don’t even drive

Then how did you get that funny stump?

How do you think I got a funny stump?

Did you chop it on a block?

Maizy yanked Eli by the sweater, but he wriggled loose.

Listen, kid. Mr said, wiping his nose on a sleeve.

If I told you how I got a funny stump

would you go away and never come back?

I’ll go away and never come back.

How’d you get the funny stump?

Your sister took it.

Eli flapped his arms. He rocked back and forth and then turned to his sister.

Maizy! Why did you take the funny stump?

Because he stuck it where it didn’t belong.

~C. Cropani~

*

6.

Resolution.

sun creeps the hills

like a cat

chasing pigeonfeathers.

there are 7 of us,

walking together,

the mile or so

toward fresh air

and a lakeside. we each

hold an oar

and a cheap lifejacket;

one of those which dangles

like a stab-vest

on the shoulder.

I walk

beside Melissa

making small talk.

in her bag

she has a knife

between the two

obligatory wine-bottles. her husband,

my cousin,

is loudly drunk already,

walking ahead and talking brazen

to the girl

with whom last night

he was discovered

inflagrante

ass out.

Melissa

does not say

anything. just

scowls

like she'd be kicking heads

off daffodils

if the month didn't happen

to be June.

she hasn't spoken

to anyone

since this morning.

for now

only she knows

what she intends.

~DS Maolalai~

*

TEMPERANCE

Jesus walked in

and sat on the arm of my couch

while Mary stood on the lawn

holding a baby that looked like him.

The sunlight caught a big blue flower

on Jesus’s Bermuda shorts

and I kept glancing out the door at Mary

and Jesus glanced out, too

then tightened the white rope on his shorts.

You look like shit, he told me.

Sit up and give me a kiss.

I drank too much whisky last night.

I know, he said, and glanced back at Mary.

No kiss? At least let me brush your hair.

He pulled out a brush from

God knows where

tugged at the dread

that had formed

in the back of my head.

So, he started in.

but I was onto him.

I’d done the same thing

with my son, playing

basketball games for a

fistful of nickels

chess for cheezits

Parcheesi for chocolate dots

So,

I’d start in with my son

you know I love you and you know I am so sorry I didn’t drive you to your friends funeral the one who died by suicide when you were in the seventh grade but I had things to do and a presentation at the University and if I didn’t show up I would have flunked and wouldn’t have gotten my degree and wouldn’t be able to buy you basketballs and chess sets and chocolate dots but I am so glad that the other mom could drive you so you could shovel dirt onto your friends grave and how was that wanna talk about it you okay?

I’m a horrible mother, I told Jesus.

I know, he said.

Wind swirled in

slamming the door

we couldn’t see Mary on the lawn

she had moved to the window

like a predator

I guess I gotta go, Jesus said.

Next time, try water instead of whisky.

Mary, Jesus

and the baby who looked like him

walked down the driveway.

toward the basketball hoop.

Jesus

picked up the ball

took a shot

missed.

Mary

handed the baby off to Jesus, then

took a shot

scored.

She tossed it back to Jesus.

So,

she started in.

~C. Cropani~

*

4.

BUDDHA FRED

lived

at Telegraph and Haste

on the sidewalk

One sock black

the other sock gone

ripped jeans

plaid shirt with

sleeves

to his knees,

dangling like

snakes swaying

on the branches

of trees

He had no belly

but he puffed it out anyway

taunting strangers

to rub it for good luck.

An old ramen noodle

hung from his beard

and he was always pissin’ in bushes

on account of his drinking.

And for a Buddha, he did not know things.

For instance, when I asked

What is the one true thing

that sits at the center of the universe?”

He said

You, sugar tits.

and the noodle fell out

and he ate it.

~C. Cropani~

*

Tornado Warning

One time when the circus came to town

after all the tents were set up and billowing

twisters jump-smacked right on top of them

Ka-boom (a detonation)

Seemingly out of nowhere

Maybe it was in a town where the high school

team was the “Centerville Tornadoes” or the

“Doon Cyclones” to give the event some

Poetic resonance (or maybe not)

The elephants; the tigers –

they would have gone crackers

The clowns would have been scurrying pell-

mell with their faces ½-way made up; noses a-

kimbo. The wind whipped wild clovers

sawdust, wheel grease, face grease

Here you need to deploy your imagination and

Picture the tent stakes uncorking themselves

from the summer soil up to blackened sky

Zip – zip – zip – zip

~Thomas E. Simmons~

*

Uncharged Vehicular Manslaughter (1915)

Early headlights cut through none of the darkness so

in those days, a passenger would step out of the car

& illuminate a path with a torchlight on foot, pacing

safely & slowly

zig-zagging between obstacles

weave-wafting around hazards

punctuating the rainy darkness

None of that one night of drinking & driving back from a tavern;

The driver’s carelessness sheared doilies of gore; a crescent bitten

abruptly: Ka-boom (a detonation)

& seemingly out of nowhere –

Deftly adhering to Newton’s 3^rd Law of Motion –

steel bars from a railroad flatbed pierced

the car’s windshield & the passenger’s face

The impresses in the skull did not belong there

The skull had belonged to comedic actor

Now there was a Rorschach Test

all over the street composed of wet

bits of driver and passenger

but mostly of passenger

The bits of driver

were all of his teeth

~Thomas E. Simmons~

*

Chaney’s Face

Chaney’s visage was its most cadaverous not when playing the goblin but the villain. His visage was troubling. Scowling. Not icy but warm, strong, and misguided. Sweaty. Gracefully scheming and taut. Braided with a brand of twine that might be inked with a cursive script across the shipment crates in the hold which contain heavy scrolls of it: “Retribution.”

Those butterfly eyebrows ready to skewer his peepers. The teeth are unnaturally perfect. The tension between wanting to look away and holding his grimace.

In this way, his face pays its regards to cadavers. His face does not radiate the warmth of warm. It radiates something practiced of a blank etiology. It wraps itself around you – which is not something an ordinary man fancies when it comes to cadavers.

~Thomas E. Simmons~