Poetry

“Darth Vader and the Renaissance Festival,” by Kim Malinowski

Apr 20th, 2020 | By

Darth Vader sports ye olde chainmail and has a turkey leg
in his left hand and a program in his right.
He is muddy AND dusty, smelling of grease and that crocodile stand.
He has never been happier, never more carefree.



“A Jovial Wednesday Picnic,” by Kyle Brandon Lee

Apr 20th, 2020 | By

Odin and Zeus stand in the grand gazebo
keeping quiet company as they overlook the grass pristine.
Few words have been spoken between them since the great
debate of mead versus ambrosia and who exactly
made the better home brew in the neighborhood.
Their proximity to another was itself disquieting.



“Lunchroom Lear,” by Peter Taylor

Apr 20th, 2020 | By

Rising, spoon-sceptred
Friends, entreat my words on burnished throne,
Cursing worms in salads tempest-tossed,
Scarce fit for puking nurses—am I alone?
My hapless band of brothers, courage lost?



“Emily Dickinson’s Car Accident Report,” by Ken Macklin

Dec 20th, 2019 | By

Because I could not stop for Death—
My Honda hit a tree
The state police looked at my car—
And Death began to flee



“To Sarah Connor,” by Benjamin J. Chase

Dec 20th, 2019 | By

Baby, I went back in time for you.
I took a trial run of the time machine
crouching in the blue energy ball
that opened in a Los Angeles alley—