Executive Orders
Who, in a back room, prepares the folders? The ones that look like menus from ’80s family restaurants. In the […]
Poets Respond
Night Vision
Our minds’ eyes can be keen. I hear
the young doctor in Gaza City tell me
through the car radio what she’s seen,
and I see, too, a man with arms snug
around a lifeless child.
Bad Back
Last night, in 7-11, the cashier reached
across the counter to scan my purchases
then grimaced and grabbed the small
of his back. I know that pain well
so I said, “I’ve got a bad back, too.”
Whalesong
of course, as a poet, I’m supposed to think
words matter, am supposed to note
the irony in the Pentagon algorithmically removing
references to diversity from its websites
Your Brain May Have a Spoon’s Worth of Microplastics
In the hospital, my stepfather wakes. They ask him who is president. Well, what year is it? he jokes, as if there will never be a time he won’t remember,
The Word of the Day Is Widdershins
which sounds fun and elfin, like that
dance that leprechauns do, hobnail boots
clicking with glee or maybe something a
confused rabbit in coattails might say
when he’s lost his way: