The Krugerrand around your neck
hits me in the mouth

Nothing screams heresy 
more than cream and jam 
applied to one’s scone 
in the wrong order.

Mid-meal, I think of when
she made me noodles—iced
beef broth with julienne
cucumber, radish, sliced

Bang. Then buzz. Then clang. Then doom.
A marching band in a tin cocoon.
The table slides. My breath retreats.
My muscles lock. My heart skips beats.
Don’t move, they said. I swore, I won’t,
which means, of course—I might. I don’t.

New issue arriving on August 20th, 2025!