by a blaring honk

And I see-

a middle finger

spring up before me.

It made me want to

act on nothing.

It was the most boring middle finger

I have ever seen;

lacking in all passion and artistry.

(a Monster truck on valium.)

No more incredible

than a blade of grass

lifting back up

after being brushed down.

I am disappointingly unmoved,

like the night I walked out of the play

“Waiting for Godot.”

I just

didn’t have the time.

Take your finger

and go tuck yourself

shamefully away

like Napoleon’s

deformed little hand.

————

Ricki Hunsinger is an emerging writer from the Baltimore area.She is a graduate with a B.A. in English from Chatham University. In her spare time she enjoys eating fresh figs, daydreaming about her future metal band: “Colitis Emperor”, and sitting around on jungle gyms. She currently works as a library assistant.

I will use my scythe to exhume the letter from its holder.

In the mailbox, the envelope dozes atop a coupon

From Bed Bath and Beyond, a material image of sorts.

Above, the clouds are clouding around me.

This draws up existential questions, and

The smell of my mother’s lemon cake,

A glowing ember of youth; and finally the shock word:

I shut the mailbox and proceed to

Pull from my coat pocket, a bazooka.

————

Megan Roth is finding it hard. www.mrothillustration.com

A rose is a

flower is a

resurrection is an

erection is a

momento is an Is.

————

Li Min Hua is the author of 1,918 published poems and essays. He has edited special issues of College English and Margins. He has written three poetry volumes Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976) Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), and Lutibelle’s Pew (Dragon Disks, 1990).

The University of Michigan collects Li’s papers. From 1983-87 he lived in exile in Asia. He has read at more than three score venues in Britain, Canada, China, Hong Kong, and the USA. He is an emeritus professor of English at Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey.