At the Bar by Karen Valentine
Minute shards of glass
settle upon the bar counter
like finely milled powder
The barkeep smiles at no one in particular
as if born an automaton
No warmth offered as he brushes...
Working Farm for Sale by J.D. Smith
The hives have gotten through another year—
I’m sure you’ve heard of the alternative.
Buy soon and you can have the Holsteins here.
No guarantee of how much milk they’ll...
Two Poems by Megan Alpert
Island
She would cry every time we put her in the carriage. That was all right, and the way I had to lean sideways to make her sleep....
Two Poems by Miles David Moore
L’Auteur Fatslug
Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed
before the movies infiltrated their thoughts.
He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg—
or, depending on his mood of the...
