The garbage man will make it alright: for Nandra Perry

by JeFF Stumpo

You ask me to speak at an anti-war rally.
I ask you for the efficiency of ants
come lately across a dead lizard in my driveway.

Day one: the long brown body, belly-up in the sun,
mouth agape and claws still hanging on to the invisible
orb of its life. I must have crushed it


by Judie Gonsalves

It’s another endless silence
in the vacuousness between
front and back seat.
Despite the music on the radio
we hear nothing
(sounds have masks as well).

Red, Grey and Blue

by Daisy Eagan

All the windows are open. Someone nearby is blasting ranchera and I’m grateful that at least it’s not the out-of-tune Mariachi band that comes around sometimes. The man with the ice cream cart goes by ringing his tinny bell. The Ice Cream man replaces the Tamale man who came earlier in the day. The Tamale man stands by the open back door of his station wagon calling out, “Tamales comprados! Tamales!” He used to come by everyday at the same time until one morning I yelled out, “It’s 8:00 in the morning on a Saturday, for Christ’s sakes! SHUT! UP!” Since then he comes by less. Or maybe I just like to think it’s because of me.

The Forest at Night

by Maria Romasco-Moore That night the moon was so bright we didn’t need a flashlight. It fell in bars across the path, cut by the trees into thin ghosts. By these we saw our way. We saw the path in…

Urban Throat

by Anirban Acharya

The central city poems, slightly
curved at their edges, imagine
how the cattle keep moaning
sculpted in the habitual sun.