January 2012 | back-issues, poetry
His shrinking humiliation blistered in the sun.
You raise your nose at him
but I’ve seen you,
I’ve seen you digging trough the dumpsters,
hissing at spectators as they laugh at your misfortune.
Lean in close and listen to the clicking
of the kitchen clock. Maddening, isn’t it?
All of your mental calculations are letting you
down, aren’t they?
These are nights of love and laughter
followed by days of unapologetic
loneliness.
You stare at the dirty wine glasses
filling your sink as if you’re the only one
who feels empty on a daily basis.
Cliff Weber is 25 years-old and lives in Los Angeles. He has self-published three books, “Matzo Ball Soup” in 2009, “Jack Defeats Ron 100-64” in 2010 and “Remain Frantic” in 2011. His work has appeared in Adbusters, Out of Our, Burning Word, Bartleby Snopes and Young American Poets, among others. Weber is currently in need of a book publisher.
January 2012 | back-issues, poetry
Week or so after Hurricane Hazel,
Me, just out of the Navy, no job.
Mac, one year out of Walter Reed.
My dad (looking out for us) Bunch
Of trees down at Curtis Arboretum,
Township needs help cleaning up.
Couple of axes. hatchet, sharpening
stone, file and coffee thermos.
A two-man bucking saw, Mac and me
We waded into tangled branch mess
Hatchet, axes swing, bite, chips fly
Branches slap — sweat stings eyes
Sun, leaves, sawdust everywhere.
Axe blades sticky, saw teeth clogged,
Sap-stiff gloves, blistered hands
Buck-sawing oak, maple, walnut
Sycamore — some we didn’t know.
Logs piled by road for dump truck
We cashed checks, drank beer.
Papers said the storm killed
Thousands, Haiti to Toronto.
Mac died, Halloween Day 2008.
Hit by northbound car on Rte. 611
Happened fast like Hurricane Hazel.
Mac had his troubles; he was lucky
Got out of this life quick-like
Now, nobody’s on saw’s other end.
Fifty-four years done and gone.
George Fleck is a graduate of Temple University, Philadelphia Pa., and a Korean War Veteran. He has been writing poetry for fourteen years. His work has appeared in Commomweath: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania, Penn State Press 2005, Mad Poets Review, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and online in “Poets Against The War.”
January 2012 | back-issues, poetry
#1
He walks
On the road made of nothingness
Paved with bodies of dead wishes
He walks tacitly
Invisibly
I’m pretending to be a Star
On his sky
To be the Sun and the Moon
He walks
Not looking up…
Marija Stajic is a writer and journalist who has been published by The New Yorker and many other online and print publications, and who has published three books of poetry. She has a B.A. in Linguistics from Faculty of Philosophy, University of Nis (Serbia) and an M.A. in International Journalism from American University.
