“Tweet From the Third Pew”
by Timothy Pilgrim
Kneeling now
head bowed
seem to pray
hand making cross
other, low, tapping phone.
Priest’s eyes on me
hungry, intense, blue
his thumbs down too.
“A Victory for Electronics”
by C.H. Nissan
Disparity I have beholden
You were once my lover
Gate-keeper to my innermost desires
Savior of the misanthrope I was destined to be
Passionate love-making was our good morning
It was our sleepless good night
In which the sheets were saturated
With the liquid byproducts of our joint thrust
Oh how tragedy has befallen me!
Since you have sought pleasure elsewhere
For it was I who used to be your giver
Yet you now take from a vibrating sausage
“TV Dinner His Ass”
by AJ Huffman
When he promises to cook, sweep, do
the laundry for you, then flakes
out, claims he’s running
late or just forgot and ran
out of time. Just wait till he falls
asleep in his recliner, then wrap
him in a few dozen rolls of aluminum
foil, a snazzy snug-fitting blanket.
Pull it up to his chin, then stick a fork in
his mouth. Turn on
gas stove. Blow out
pilot light. Walk twenty-
three steps from your front door, look
back, light torch, toss with smile
spread proudly across your face.
Half a blink later, trust me, he will be
well, and truly, done.
“Ode to A Guilty Pleasure”
by Rebecca Kurtz
Forever a friend
Always present
At the end of my most dismal days
You fill the chasm of my boredom
You connect me to the world
You satisfy my rapturous gaze
Such a sense of enthrall
As I gaze wall-to-wall
My love for you is never ending
This, I swear to you;
I’ll always be true
Our friend requests never pending
I’ll stick to our untattered creed
As I’ll check my newsfeed
and at my messages, I’ll take a look
For, despite your treacherous distraction
From actual human interaction
You are my guilty pleasure, oh, facebook.
“Dweeb scarfs down yellow thing on a stick”
by Timothy Pilgrim
Not corn dog skewered nor mustard shrimp,
impaled nonetheless — saffron treat
bought hot, black van, mid-block,
downtown, busy street. Not one clue
who dweeb is, his Facebook page,
where he lives. No redemption takes place,
no hate erased. Yet yellow glob gone,
dweeb too, with iPhone, poof,
head down, thumbs busy, thorny crown,
up dark alley in gold Subaru.
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