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II. Strange Surroundings The Morning News
A blue
wedge Fraternal Order
The Fraternal Order of Police issued a statement supporting the decision, which covers all narcotics offenses, thefts, burglary, vandalism, prostitution, stolen cars, economic crimes, such as bad checks and fraud, and any existing bench warrants.
Here, in the city of brotherly love
we are ill. We have broken too many hearts.
We march. We break windows. We cry out
in each darkest night. In this time of dis ease we empty out our prisons (we cannot
let their population die.) And we step away
just a little from filling them again. And I am
afraid. Even of my neighbor. Even on my
own street. —Kelley Jean White
THE LAST SUPPER
By the time our cholent came to a boil, the gas-baked ice shelves up north had already dribbled away, a saltless Gulf Stream had dispersed past the Bermuda Triangle, Neptune rising from Biscayne Bay had reclaimed Eden Roc, December hurricanes had doused every lamp in Borough Park, the arc of Gaia ‘s expiration had given the finger to Noah ‘s rainbow, and, just as Zayde cleared his throat to make Hamotzi, the canary in the coal mine began to gnaw on carrion, scales fell from the flanks of whitefish, the calf tolerated lactose, ceased its reflux, healed its clefts, and wrapped its scars in gold leaf, one paltry ounce of which might buy our vanishing heirs a hechsher for Soylent Green.
—Donald Mender
Survival
Just before Havdalah some distant planet orbiting a red sun imploded yet was not completely consumed. Ostjuden, simmering with resentment, had lit the fuse. Here on earth, a pig-pated villain licked his chops, joined the Hair Club for Thugs, and awaited the green glowing ashes.
“Great Jovian ghost!” exclaimed Mr. Kohen Gadol, stunned by an unexpected eyeful through his cub reporter ‘s telephoto lens. Sadly, the hobbled press kept in stock only an unforwarded White Paper.
One pasty-faced metropolitan inspector, discerning no foul play in the goldilocks zone of that faraway world, shrugged under his umbrella. The State Department turned back three limping vessels just beyond Pluto.
But back on the farm, Ma and Pa, deftly tweaking channels, spirited a humanoid kindertransport to the gentle couple ‘s safe hearth. ScoopU, Inc. bought the franchise. Digital graphics fed the pupating mesomorph. The golem grew. —Donald Mender
Strange Surroundings
I have always lived in alien enclaves. never taking root no matter how long I stayed in one place long enough to belong, my distance from others engraved in my soul, that for some reason, cause, curse, inheritance, coincidental as existence I am as temporary as a gust of wind, though I move slowly enough that I don ‘t blow away, in an instant.
I began like so many others without knowledge, experience, just need urgent appetite to be fed, held, soothed in the strange new world, having been abruptly removed from conception chamber where all needs were gratified without thought, question, everything flowed as I wanted, warm, comfortable, secure.
Then disruption. Demands to vacate the premises I resisted with all my might, not wanting to leave home. Intrusive hands forced me out, yanked me into the cold, wrapped me in garments, but it wasn ‘t the same, put me on someone ‘s warmth but it wasn ‘t the same, There was nothing else and for the moment my ordeal was over. I slept.
For many years I worked and gave of my soul to homeless families with children, most of them surgically removed from the rest of society, placed in isolated hotels in unwelcoming neighborhoods, identities horribly subtracted by callous government agencies, abandoned by those who should help who escape responsibility because the homeless are transformed into non-citizens, arbitrarily deprived of their rights, more vulnerable then most of us, and the children feel the disconnect between them and humanity —Gary Beck
Watching Jordan‘s Fall
… God, I hate November All the hope I had hoped Against hope for Jordan.
Dad beat Jordan, to Straighten him out, to show Jordan, to silence him.
My brother lived until the next Season, onto the next winter, Very quiet like a fallen leaf. —Allison Whittenberg
Hebephrenic
The island said:
my breath catches in iron beneath trees of broken glass
pull my hand from the vise beneath the halogen lamps
we ‘ll toss buds that will never unfold
they fall beneath rusted street lamps reflected in crackled ice
I am darker than the wind I am colder than your tiny heart —Kelley Jean White
What Do We Do Now?
When the replenishments aren‘t there? When love is way too rare? When passion diminishes like a whisper? Each day the planet wobbles and bombs fall on the Ukraine while the blue sky sets again. We watch for what we can ‘t imagine about the fate of the earth at the same time as we cannot stop driving cars around for even a day or two, destroying what we know. And the prices are rising and the seas are getting warmer and politicians are quibbling over what they want while people go hungry as if it is not all that simple in the end, that uttering it is too complicated to fix, too mixed up to straighten out will do. Even old people hide from each other now, stay inside, keep poems hidden in drawers where no one sees them or hears the way they are, under wraps, keeping the feelings in, all the life within. I take to less is the only way I know how to help now. I make sure the sunflowers out front survive, stand up to the big winds on cold night, walk under the sweet new moon, remembering what love was like once, counting the stars one by one. —Charlene Langfur
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