poetry
Make Them Laugh: Three Easy Steps
CHRIS CLEMENS
ONE. Procure nitrous oxide. Amateur
comedians who stare at their feet
every Thursday night may resort
to desperate measures after years
of shame. For suicidal dentists,
this step is simple.
TWO. Generously donate ten canisters
of “stage fog” to Laugh Machine,
to be installed near vents. Rig secret
remote triggers on each: you’ll TELL
them when to laugh!
THREE. Alone in the spotlight, release gas
as needed to survive coughs and smirking
faces. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES
should your sweaty fingers jam the remote
buttons, releasing all the gas at once
with a faint hiss.
FOUR!? Between giggling gasps,
try to warn everyone
maybe
although
every word you say is hilarious
everyone’s finally rolling in the aisles
together
and the laughter goes on and on
Chris Clemens lives and teaches in Toronto, surrounded by raccoons.
Apocalypse
ASHER BOMSE
Earth had been sick for a while
Humanity being the root cause
A spiral that only went deeper as time went on
Everyone knew, saw the signs, did nothing
Then, as predicted by so many, it’d finally happened
Humanity was facing its demise by their own hands
Earth was getting rid of the infection that’d been slowly killing it
At long last in the eyes of Mother Nature
Floods, Tornadoes, Volcanic eruptions, Typhoons, everything in between happening
The weather was taking over, washing everyone away
Much like the Biblical floods once did, only worse
Nowhere was safe from anything
People dying instantly while others died slowly
Millions dead within the first twelve hours
Leaving millions of others knowing they were likely next
A fate that seemed worse than death being what it felt to them
Five million survived out of eight billion
They’d did what they’d needed to survive
They began using what they could to survive and rebuild
All five million were unsure of their future
Knowing they still very well might be on borrowed time
No amount of planning would help other
Too many unknowns to attempt it
They came together anyway in hopes of rehabilitating Mother Nature
Asher is a Transgender Man living with Disabilities. He writes to help others in some way through their writing
PTSD
JOHN GREY
Memories crack head-on with now,
smack bang in the middle of the road—
none giving way,
none slowing.
Her brain’s a bloodied knot
of yesterday’s smoke and today’s hazard lights.
She reaches out like roadside assistance—
but this wreck’s deep in the woods,
long past the guardrails of reason.
How do you salvage only half a soul?
Can she bear to see one crawl free
while the other’s laid out like a funeral?
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Latest book “Bittersweet” is available through Amazon.
Banana Phones Are the Smartest Phones
E.J. LEROY
Hello, I’m not at home
Please leave a message
With the banana phone
What’s that you say?
No answering machine
Good, now go away
You see, I’ve cut all obnoxious ties
To asinine jokes, doomscrolling,
Petty political stunts, and lies
Until I replaced my smartphone
I had no idea how much time could fly
Now I do, thanks to my banana phone
Smooth yellow crescent on my wall
With no irritating texts, pings, or calls
You’re the least annoying phone of all
So, if my number you cannot reach
That’s just too bad
Tell it to the banana—beep!
E.J. LeRoy is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer with a forthcoming mpreg novella. Curious? Visit http://ejleroy.weebly.com.
Elaine.
SOPHIA JANE HAYDEN
Fifty-three-year-old Elaine decided she was done
with dating. Doug’s online profile stated he was a
psychoneuroimmunologist. As they walked to the
restaurant, he said he was intrigued by the Maple
tree’s marcescence. As they dined, he explained
he recently had laryngotracheobronchitis and was
reading a book about the deinstitutionalizing of 18th
century counterrevolutionaries. He expressed a
dislike of felines because they were Zuigerphobics.
Before dessert, Elaine realized she suffered from
hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia—-
(a fear of big words,) and had to leave the cafe.
breaking
KEN KAKAREKA
2 mexican
men
breaking
for lunch
from the
car wash
next door.
they carry
tall
sweaty
ice cold
beers
in 97
degree heat.
their smiles
are the smiles
of an
american’s
first time
in paris
or children
on christmas
morning.
for 1 hr.
they will
laugh
in the Face
of
an America
that has
us all
by
the balls.
they will
laugh
at whoever
promised
their
independence
upon arrival.
they will
laugh
at the
lost art
of a
mid-afternoon
buzz
in the
Face of
the Man.
they will
laugh
b/c
it’s all
you
can do
when you
realize
the irony
of it
all.
they are
not
breaking
for lunch
so much
as they
are breaking
for Freedom.
It was bad weather for an exhibit
With ominous clouds that conquered the air
And the gallery seemed to inhibit
Those colors destined to drive out despair
The sign said, “Touch, we will not prohibit”
So, my father plopped himself in a chair
At the window, in a manner most crass
He fell asleep with his foot on the glass!
Spiders in continuous wind
DS MAOLALAI
like a rotating crane
towers over a
foundation pit.
you ever think
you can all the way
finish? I know,
man, I know
that you can't, but
then sometimes
I wish it: that we could
just build and be
done, having built it;
not maintain
for the rest of our
stink-fucking
parasite
lives.