“Priss Miss”
by Mike Berger, PhD
The glance down her nose was a
mile-long. Her face was made of
stone; she was as warm as a
penguin in an arctic gale.
She looked like she had just
stepped from the window of a
clothing shop. She stayed in
recess; frolicking was beneath
her dignity.
Hair was always pulled back in
a tight bun; not a strand was out
of place. You didn’t want to cross
her; she would bore holes in you
with her steely eyes.
In high school she got straight A’s
she was the valedictorian, but guys
steered clear of her. We took bets
on how long it would take to get a
girl in the back seat. With Priss
Miss no one ever tried.
I went off to school but returned
for my five year reunion. When I
saw her my jaw dropped to my
bellybutton. Her long brown hair
hung around her shoulders, and
she was dressed in a slinky black
dress; surrounded by a half dozen
guys.
She left the group and came straight
to me. She asked me to sit with her.
A deep smile filled her face as she
explained that she was looking forward
to seeing me. She told me that she didn’t
how to tell me, but she always had the
hots for me.
“A Shitty Day in the Life”
by Michael Frissore
I shit my pants today, oh boy.
Thought I had to fart, but I was wrong.
Now I don’t know what I should do.
Should I just throw them out?
Or stand above the sink for half an hour
with a rag and Shout®?
“The Fishmonger’s Price”
by Errid Farland
My dear, I have missed you, come look at my presents, I kept them to bring here for you all alone. With the moon full and hairy, but sweet like a cherry, I snatched them from there just for you, here at home.
You are full on crazy, made up, such a fraud, with a seam down your middle and a cup
for a cod. Piece.
Oh how you wound me, I honorably seek thee, yes, you my beloved, sweet honeysuckle vine. I am yours for the taking, for the molding and making, I’m yours for the using, give your fullness to me.
There’s a frog at your feet, one with big legs, there are fish in your fingers, which ones did you eat?
I have eaten the fair one, the maiden who’s pretty, she’s really no maiden, I happen to know. Once at her table, and this is no fable, just once at her table, on her feast I have dined.
Shhh, they will hear you, you cannot be trusted with your mask to conceal all the things you have known.
I’ve a taste for a tuna, one that flops, one that squirms, and I know where you hide it, oh, please let me see. Give me fish, give me fish, give me fish, I am begging, give me fish, give me fish, from your vast, juicy sea.
What is it you caught, then? What is it you juggle? More fish, more fish, is it ever enough?
I sailed the wide ocean, I sailed on a clipper, I crossed the broad waters on bridges and stones. I ate of the bounty, you cannot blame me, I ate of the bounty of salmon and roe. But none can sustain me, none satisfy, only you, my dear princess, your flavor divine.
Off with you now, you’re mad as a hatter, and speaking of that what a hat! You’re porcine.
Don’t send me away, oh my dear, oh my mistress, you hawk you wares proudly, now give some to me. I’ll gobble you up, I’ll taste your salt waters, I’ll cast out the bones, OH! the sheer ecstasy. I’ll bring you to know it, the cause of my madness, I’ll bring you to share in this pleasure so free.
You think you’re a charmer, you think you can win me then cast me aside? If wares I am selling, then you’d best be paying, and my price, I can tell you, is very, quite steep.
I’ve got, see, these presents, these grand, foreign presents, I’ve brought you these presents, now give me a peek. I’ll taste, touch, and smell you, I’ll nibble and pinch you, I’ll lick and I’ll swallow, make you weak in the knees.
A ring, did you bring me, a gold band to win me, for that is my price, pay it full or let be.
My love, you’re a mean one, a costly and keen one, you know I will pay it, I’ll meet your high fee. In exchange for this bondage, on Friday, each Friday, you’ll stuff me with fish, with your fish, and sweet tea?
We’ve struck, then, a bargain, you nutty, life dancer. You’ll dance to my tunes and we’ll make melody.
“Cockroaches”
by Lee Rorman
let us assume a 2 hour
nuclear war ended
just now &
let us assume we
are cockroaches awaking
from our slumber
rubbing our tiny
eyes & leaving a
path of shit
to the coffee maker
and pouring a cup of
joe before we
carpool to work
in the Benson’s
cupboard
let’s assume our
day was same old
same old
“First Poem of My Rebellion”
by Max West
I’m in a state of rebellion.
The practiced faces of the street challenge me
With their static, statuesque eyes,
Scraping shallow sentences between stiff lips,
Leaving behind largely an indention
Of stoic memorial posturings.
They challenge me
Because they do not encourage
The difference I feel.
My rebellion extends
To unyielding lanes on the freeway,
The unflinching moods
In elevators,
And the courteous smiles
Of those who despise me.
I’m tired of all the buying
I was unaware of selling But I’m aware now,
And that is my rebellion.
Forgive me
For I have inherited a terrible crime
And passed it on to you –
Forgive me
For I knew not what we did
While serving myself up, a vessel
For all the blood running through-
But I die for your sins, too,
Every time I am compromised for no reason
But hate of fear or worse still dispassion,
Die for your sins every moment
Compounded by every interest in our shared possession,
Die just like you die for mine.
And thus, the ridiculousness of competition.
Because I cannot be the only one who feels
The need for such rebellion.
I can’t be the only one who feels it
Riding around inside the wind, crying out
From the oppressive air my eyes find
As they trace the confines of courthouses
Jailhouses
Madhouses
With some unformed desire to redefine.
But changing the aesthetic makes little difference.
For we are not fighting people
Ideas
Or ideals
Beyond ourselves.
It is a rebellion of the individual
Against that part of itself
Which is not truly original.
Against that part we willingly or
Unwittingly accept and encourage
Every moment we let endure.
We have been complacent for far too long.
FUCK IT!
Scream something new from the rooftops
Or at least begin whispering it
From altitudes of yourself
It’s ridiculous to obey an outdated code
Which has not altered
Despite all the changes around it
And it is not only ridiculous,
It is a crime
Not to tread the path of transformation
When we have the arms, the pain,
The heart and the COUNTRY to do so.
Rise up, America!
We were born out of not following orders
But have forgotten beneath the weight of our own-
We have forgotten to question what we obey
Or why
And in this sense are no better
Than the worst Nazi fires
Lit with the consenting weight of empires
Of endless small talk or the hush
Of the religions of literature
Which have preceded us-
It’s simple and yet
The process of lifetimes
Is only to begin it-
Always beginning,
From here and a thousand years
In every direction.
Yes, I am in a state of rebellion.
Against that part of myself I have not chosen.
And, because of this, so are you.
Because the first premise
Of this rebellion
Is the beginning of non-resistance
Of intimacy with the fact that
Neither of us can know-
A separate truth.
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