poems by Justin Hyde

Poems by Aimee Delong

Cat, Poem, & Notes (poetry & fiction)
by Ralph-Micheal Chiaia

Artwork by Bruce New

Charlie Parker's Garden (poetry) by Puma Perl

Red Mama (artwork/poetry) by Moctezuma Johnson

The Mob (poetry) by Doug Draime

Willie Lepers (music video) by Norman Ball

1 out of 6 by by Rob Plath

The Recipe by Emme Hor

Sometimes Suicidal by Aimee DeLong

Last Night at Southport by Justin Hyde

microwave popcorn haiku by Pete Lee

 

Lunch with Steve from high school

Hadn’t seen Steve in 40 years,
but we found each other on Facebook
and here we are at lunch, catching up.
We were in the History Club together
and had a couple gym classes together,
but our memories are so barren,
barren as the moon.

“So what do you remember about Patti?”
I ask him as he bites into his hamburger.
Patti was my high school sweetheart,
the incredible girl I married.

“Patti? Oh, she was one of the prettiest girls
in the class.” I love hearing that sort of thing.
She’s always been so beautiful to me,
but when other guys say it,
I get so pleased and proud that she is mine.

“Did you talk to her much back then,
ever say anything to her?”
I prod him for memories.
“Oh, no,” he responds immediately,
“I could never have done that.”

I know exactly how he felt.
And it’s just as I thought, her beauty
actually kept the other guys away.
And for the life of me I can’t figure out
how I ever got the courage
to ask her out in the first place,
let alone to ask her to go steady with me
on our very first date.

“Bravest thing I ever did in my whole life,”
I declare to Steve, who nods his head in agreement.
“Yes, I’m sure it is, Mike, I’m sure it is.”

THE RUMBA WITH PATTI

Basic Box
Underarm Turn
Crossover & Walkaround Turn (brush step end)
Open Break & Arch Turn
Open Break & Arch Turn to
DHH to corners 5 times end with turn
Crossbody Lead
Crossbody Lead to Cuban Walk to Man’s Turn
Forward & Backward Rocks
Offset Breaks from Closed Position
end with man’s RF back
try not to stare at her perfect shape moving
or look into her shining mink-coat brown eyes
because then you might step on her feet

Mike + Patti
March 7, 1966

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY
1 year 4 months
16 months
64 weeks
448 days
10,752 hours
645,120 minutes
38,707,200 seconds
15 days not seeing you
70 dates
400 hours on phone
I love you

In My Mind’s Eye

I picture her, I can’t help myself, with the other guys back in college –

• having lunch with some guy in the cafeteria after sending me away
• in the back seat of a car on a double date with Bobbie
• studying with Don, the football player, in a quiet corner of the library
• walking to class with Ralph, who she wanted more than anything, to date
• smiling coyly as Larry tells her she has such pretty eyes.

My girl, my beauty, the love of my life. Yes, I can’t help myself,
can’t stop these anguished scenes from playing over and over again
like a bad movie in my poor, confused, tired-out mind.

Patti’s Anger

            1

Like a startled doe
in a clearing
she looks up
from the want ads,
her lips snarling,
“I hate this.
            I!   Hate!   This!”
her eyes glaring straight
into me as if I've just told her
I'm leaving and taking
the money,
            the dog,
and the children, too.

            2

“And if it weren’t for me
you’d be a damn drunk living
one of those lost lives
out on the street
            someplace,
            in the gutter!”
and she stomps
out of the room.

            3

rolling her eyes to the ceiling
            and barking at me
to pull my bootstraps tighter
and stop whining
like a damn baby all
the damn time about
the pain nagging ceaselessly
            as Niagara Falls
at my lower back.

            4

The weather was so terrible
the cabby never showed up
            at the airport
            at midnight.
Even though I didn’t want
to call her, I had no choice,
really. As I slid in
behind the wheel,
she said, “I can’t believe
you made me come out
            on a night like this.”

            dream 5

shrugging when I recount
my dream about her
            and Aunt Adele
waiting out in the car for me
to get their bags and drive
them to the airport, and how
I can’t find the bags,
and I’m moving so slowly,
like I usually do,
            like a damn turtle,
and she’s waiting, tapping
her foot, and the time’s going,
            and she’s waiting
and waiting and beginning
to get angry at me too,
for not moving fast enough.

            6

She’s going through menopause
            (we suspect)
and she’s so sick of me
she can barely look at me.
            I’m weak and selfish
and never there for her
and I don’t understand her.
(How could I begin to understand her,
            I’m a stupid man!)
And having sex with me,
while never much
of an eagerly anticipated
event for her even during our
younger years, is now quite simply
            too unbearable
            to even contemplate.
“I just don’t see the point,”
            she says.

Book Reviews:

Dancing on Thin Ice by George Anderson (review by Ralph-Michael Chiaia)

92 Rapple by Lyn Lifshin
(review by Helen Peterson)

10 Poems & Ampersands
by Ralph-Michael Chiaia
(review by David McLean)