All entries by this author

“Caged In,” by Adam Millard

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

We sat, seven of us, in a room with surgical white walls, and for the first time since arriving I felt discomfited. Being an addict is one thing, but being addicted to… to the thing that each of us present were addicted to, well, it was just plain embarrassing. Alcohol, drugs, sex, all were preferable addictions. The sooner this madness was over with, the better.



“Restroom,” by Kim Gibson

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

“Hi, may I use the restroom?”

Of course. First it’s Can I use the restroom? Blink, blink, blink! then boom, toilet paper mâché all over the goddamn floor because gas station bathroom floors are gross and can’t be stepped on. Pee all over the seats. Paper towel thrown around the room like she had herself a good ol’ paper towel ball fight.



“Weird Stuff,” by John Abernathy

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

I told her, “I like weird stuff,” and she didn’t immediately leave.

In fact she said, “Mmmmmm,” because her mouth was full of calamari rigatoni, and then, “I like weird stuff, too.”

I leaned toward her and kept my voice down so the other diners wouldn’t hear. “Yeah? Like what?”



“Knick Knack Wars,” by Brooke Reynolds

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

Fred opened his apartment door at Shady Maples Retirement Home to a crime scene; someone had fiddled with his knick knacks. All residents at Shady Maples were given one small end table and a smidgen of wall space to display their memories. The halls were filled with old ceramic Christmas villages, poodles made from plaster, and all the precious moments of life carved out of stone. The scent of moth balls and musty yellowed newspaper articles filled the stale morning air.



“Office Cleaning,” by Klaus Nannestad

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

Jason was a charming and attractive lawyer working at one of the biggest firms in America. He was almost everything a man could wish to be, except for one thing, he was dead. Rick, meanwhile, was a cleaner who was plump, socially awkward and who had just discovered a corpse in the kitchen while mopping the third floor of the office.



“Inky, Blinky: A Pac-Man Villanelle,” by Mitch Frye

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

The sheet peels off. The spirit dies,
Yet sight persists as through a haze.
In death, we’re left with just our eyes.



“A is for Addiction,” by Liz Sellier

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

A drafty basement. Bitter coffee. 12 steps.
Attendees join four-fingered hands
and bow blue, green, orange, yellow heads,
in surrender and serenity.



“A Poem About Desolation,” by Jared De Vore

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

[This is the poem.]



“To My Dear and Loving Cabot Extra Sharp Cheddar,” by Benjamin J. Chase

Dec 20th, 2017 | By

If ever cheese were cheese, then surely you.
I’ll never eat another; that much is true.



“I Have No Money for Avocado Toast because I Can’t Stop Buying Houses,” by Daniel Galef

Dec 13th, 2017 | By

There is a hum and my phone skitters an inch or so across the table, bumping into a pastel yellow beachhouse perched on wooden stilts above a vista of scenic rolling dunes.

It’s Marc, asking if I’m down for brunch tomorrow with his cousin who’s in town for a music festival.

With a sigh, I text back to say I can’t afford to keep going to brunch in the middle of the week, by means of the waffle, dollar sign, and sad face emojis