EVERY LITTLE BIT: A HAIBUN

by Miriam Weinstein

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News.

My assignment—oranges and limes—As much or as little as you’re able to bring—the emailed instructions specified. Food and supplies collected for people afraid to leave their homes during the ICE invasion of Minnesota. Operation Metro Surge. Thousands of uniformed, masked agents carrying weapons—now a common sight on the streets of my city. Agents of fear acting erratically. Lying in face of facts. Spreading terror and chaos across my State—land of ten thousand lakes, surging rivers, roaring waterfalls. In the church parking lot, volunteers load carts—boxes of diapers, canned goods, packaged products and produce. A middle-aged man wheels a cart to the side of my car. I pull out two large reusable bags, empty contents. Five, six pound bags of oranges, five, three pound bags of limes. Small offering considering—68, 400 people, rounded and roughed up, interrogated, arrested. In the name of searching for illegal, criminal aliens, citizens and legal residents—seized—two Americans murdered by ICE agents. Their real agenda—to breed uncertainly, fear, and chaos. Every little bit counts my friend tells me. I’m desperate today to believe in something. Has the produce I dropped off  reached its destinations? During this unfathomable crisis, is someone, somewhere being nourished?

Dusk display—turkey vulture 

soars, swoops down. Curved beak 

grasps carcass, carries rat skyward.

Miriam Weinstein completed a two year apprenticeship program at the Loft Literary Center in 2013. She has two chapbooks published by Finishing Line Press: Twenty Ways of Looking and How to Thread a Needle. Her poems are in several anthologies and journals including A 21st Century Plague, Rocked by the Waters, Poems of Hope and Reassurance, The Heart of All That Is, Survivor Lit, The New Verse News, Plum Tree Tavern, Vita Brevis Press, St. Paul Almanac, and American Jewish World. Her manuscript Here. Between. Beyond. was a finalist for the Concrete Wolf Press Louis Award. Miriam Weinstein is an avid birdwatcher and environmentalist. She lives in Minneapolis, MN.

DIRGE FOR AMERICANS

by Greg Friedman 

shoot first 

lie after 

 

They came in search of virgin 

land but found earth who was 

mother, sky who was father 

to those who walked on, under, 

in harmonies unknown across 

oceans. Unaware in the grasping. 

 

shoot first 

lie after 

 

They told us the stories: patriots 

of liberating pine trees and snakes 

un-tread-upon, wresting liberty  

from plough-wielding hands and  

chained feet brought unwilling, 

un-asked-for to bondage. 

 

shoot first, 

lie after 

 

We learned the lie, detonate it 

annually with fanfare and fire, 

touting tricornered hats and parchment 

promises which excluded souls 

with hypocrisy’s math which 

wove the original sin into 

the flag-fabric of a nation. 

 

shoot first 

lie after 

 

Even the taciturn words of Lincoln, 

mixing the knife-edged speeches of 

Douglass, passed into shades on blood- 

lands, and twisted into stone idols of 

Lee and Jackson, while newer  

promises stonewalled freedom. 

 

shoot first 

lie after 

 

Riders of terror hiding under white  

in black nights un-re-constructed 

the fragile facades of freedmen’s 

bureaus and the warrior-president, 

while carpetbags carried the poisons  

of our Adam’s choices, the apple  

eaten once and choking, choking us still. 

 

shoot first 

lie after 

 

They marched, some walked into water- 

cannon resistance, some earned ropes 

others bullets. But a people progressed, 

overcame, would not be moved until law 

moved and protections etched on stones 

hewn from prophets’ preaching. Alas, 

though, alas, the original grasp of  

the banned fruit reached again to 

roll back black tides of truth, un- 

write the engraved securities and 

spread denial with ballots and faces 

shrouded lest we see hate’s true faces. 

 

Shoot first 

lie after 

 

What mirrors can poets hold up  

to who we are, the maga-faces of 

us, masked and armed with original 

animosity, that snake-fed wish for 

the knowledge of evil without good, 

the forbidden fruit of persistent 

preferences, potent with orange truths, 

to contrive, convince what eyes saw, 

not innocence—but what hate reshapes. 

 

shoot first 

lie after 

 

Our weak words gain spirit in gathered 

places of open and zoomed assemblies 

of naming, crafted calls for hands to 

join and more voices to move between 

the guns and the victims, recognize 

the lies as they spew like Connor’s 

cannons to push us off the streets 

of spoken truths. We speak first, 

second, third and always,  

after  

and until. 

Greg Friedman is a Franciscan priest, author and poet, currently living in Rome, Italy. 

OUT OF SERVICE

by Jan Steckel

Ghost cars with their lights still on, 
radios blaring, windows shattered,
litter the streets. It's like the rapture, 
drivers disappeared. Alex Pretti's
beautiful baritone talks about service,
sacrifice, freedom that isn't free.
He's reciting his own epitaph,
just doesn't know it yet.
Boy Scout, choir boy, runner, biker, 
named his dog Joule after a unit of energy.
Someone needs to immortalize him
in a song, like Joe Hill. I'm tired
of snuff videos featuring our best
and brightest. Bone-weary
of tinpot dictators, bantam Nazis 
in custom greatcoats. Alex was a lover
who was loved, cared for people,
made them laugh. Now he's meat.
The pathologist will crack his chest,
weigh his heart, find it lighter 
than a feather. Joe Hill tells Joule,
"Hear that? He's coming."
All the ghost cars flash their lights
in time to the whistles and shots.

Ghosts and Oceans, Jan Steckel's latest book, is a collection of short fiction. Her poetry book The Horizontal Poet won a Lambda Literary Award. Her books Like Flesh Covers Bone, Mixing Tracks, and The Underwater Hospital also won awards.

IN THE AGE OF NIXON

by Alan Catlin

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

An I.C.U. nurse shot by federal agents was an American citizen with no criminal record, the city police chief said. A New York Times video analysis shows he was holding a phone, not a gun. —The New York Times, January 24, 2026

after the shootings at Kent State
a national student strike shut down
the colleges

Led to massive protests in the streets

Everyone could see that
shooting unarmed college students
was wrong

Under Trump
shooting a mother of three
with stuffed toys in her glove compartment
and a mutt in the back seat of her SUV
was okay

They called her a domestic terrorist
as if those stuffed toys were IED’s

And now a gang of six ICE agents
beat down an ICU nurse and shot him
dead on the street

And that’s okay too

His job was to save lives
not to take them

Blood on the mother’s SUV airbag
and on the sidewalk where the nurse
died tells us all we need to know

Alan Catlin is the poetry and reviews editor of Misfitmagazine.net. His next full-length book of poetry is Still Life with Apocalypse from Shelia Na Gig Editions.

ANOTHER EXECUTION

by Cody Walker

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

“An individual approached US Border Patrol officers with a 9mm semi-automatic handgun. The officers attempted to disarm this individual, but the armed suspect reacted violently,” Noem said, despite video evidence clearly showing an unarmed Pretti being beaten. —The Guardian, January 24, 2026

This isn’t a game—

it’s not Risk, Trouble, Yahtzee.

It’s straight-up Nazi. 

Cody Walker is the author of three poetry collections, all from the Waywiser Press. He lives and teaches in Ann Arbor.

WINTER WEATHER, MINNEAPOLIS, JANUARY 2026

by Kip Knott

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

US federal law enforcement officers on Saturday fatally shot an American citizen in Minneapolis for the second time in less than three weeks. Saturday morning’s killing of US citizen Alex Pretti, 37, comes after Renee Nicole Good, also a 37-year-old American citizen, was shot to death on 7 January by a federal immigration officer in Minneapolis, with video showing her trying to drive away from a confrontation, sparking protests nationwide. The Guardian, January 24, 2026

At first, I thought it was

ice pellets clinking

on the frozen pavement.

When I learned what it was,

I finally realized why

they call it a hail of bullets.

Kip Knott is a writer, poet, teacher, photographer, and part-time art dealer living in Ohio. His most recent book of poems, Rothko's Gospels, is available from Tiny Wren Publishing. 

THE TRUMP ADMINISTRATION IS MAKING ME

by Thomas DeFreitas

queer. Therefore, I intend to fight

fascism with flamboyance.

I will swirl about America

in Deborah Kerr's dress from The King and I

and warble in my blithest trill 

getting to know you,

getting to know all about you...

 

The Trump Administration

is turning me gayer than Morrissey.

Learn to hate me, you cancerous fuckers.

Assemble the goddamn ways.

 

I will be bi, pan,

voile et vapeur, AC/DC,

gleefully switch-hitting, a three-dollar bill.

I will blare Culture Club at Republican lawmakers,

I will Bowie and Freddie them into submission.

I will glitter the evangelicals, curtsy

to Oklahoma deacons. I will strew

pink carnations and heart-shaped confetti

on the asphalt trodden by ICE.

 

I will incense the icons of Keith and Renée

and all the others whose names go unreported.

I will vanquish the murderers with the B-52s, Elton John,

Alicia Bridges, Dusty Springfield,

the Pet Shop Boys, the Communards.

I will preach and prooftext, in season, out of season,

with the limber cadenzas of Ginsberg,

with the dapper iambics of Auden,

with the plaintive ballads of Lorca.

 

I will be the filthy limerick

in your Epistle to the Romans,

the drag queen at your prayer breakfast,

the non-binary poet in your Department of War.

I will take your Supreme Court

and Diana Ross it to a timely and fabulous death.

Thomas DeFreitas (he/him/his) was born in Boston in 1969. He was educated at the Boston Latin School, and attended the University of Massachusetts in Amherst for three calamitous semesters. He has published five collections with Kelsay Books, including Elegies & Devotions (2025) and Winter in Halifax (2021). His latest, Consider, is seeking a publisher. Thomas is a resident of Arlington, Massachusetts, and (along with his scores of poetfriends) is currently plotting to take over the explorable universe and permeate it with lyrical benevolence.

FOR LIAM CONEJO ROJAS, 5 YEARS OLD, SEIZED BY ICE

by Pepper Trail

Liam Conejo Ramos, 5, is seen being detained in a photo released by Columbia Heights Public Schools officials that has prompted anger in the Twin Cities. Credit.: Columbia Heights Public Schools via The New York Times, January 22, 2026

This is what I would say, would try to say.

 

Liam, are you okay?  

No, I didn’t think so.

Come sit by me.

Yes, I’m crying, I’m crying a little, sorry.

 

Can I hold your hand?   We can just sit quietly.

You are safe here.

If only that was true.

 

……..

 

A little better now?  

I’m so sorry what happened to you.

It was very bad.

Those were very bad people, and it was scary.

 

But you’re safe now.

If only that was true.

Your father and mother love you.  

So many people love you.

I’m sorry about the bad people, but there are good people too.

We will make sure nothing like that ever happens again.

Not to you, or to any other kid.

We must make that true.
 

You are very brave. Thank you for being so brave.

Thank you for sitting with me.

 

I love you, Liam.

Are you ready to play?   

Great, your mother is right here, and your friends.

Go play.

I’ll be going now. There are a lot of things I have to do.

 

Good people, there is so much we have to do.

Pepper Trail is a poet and naturalist based in Ashland, Oregon. His poetry has appeared in Rattle, Atlanta Review, Spillway, Kyoto Journal, Cascadia Review, and other publications, and has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net awards. His collection Cascade-Siskiyou was a finalist for the 2016 Oregon Book Award in Poetry.

GRACE IN MINNEAPOLIS IN THE AGE OF ICE

by Barbara Draper

It’s afternoon as I sit looking out the library window— 

across the street a testy wind snaps a line-up of flags— 

 

the first for Ukraine, the next to remember the MIAs and POWs, 

the next to bring them home, and finally, an American flag.

 

Earlier this morning as I stood on a corner, a whistle 

around my neck, on look-out for ICE,

 

an Hispanic mom, holding her daughter’s hand, 

walking her safely to school, 

 

passes by, touches my sleeve 

and thanks me. 

 

Me of the privileged, white variety, 

grandmotherly, sure in my safety. 

 

Tears welled up— 

for her or for me? 

 

The unfairness, the enigma, the grace she gave 

with her great big heart. She touching me.

Barbara Draper’s poems have been published in Poetry East, Potomac Review, Rust + Moth and Sow’s Ear. She has authored one book of poems, Sometimes a Door. She lives in the Minneapolis area and is active in climate change work as well as running after three grandchildren.

SCULPTURE

by Jan Chronister

In Duluth, Minnesota

a well-known snow sculptor

crafts a car on his front lawn—

Honda Pilot with smiling driver,

arm hanging out. 

He adds a sign that says,

“I’m not mad at you.”

Someone places flowers

on the white canvas.

A photo of the sculpture on Facebook

draws close to one hundred hateful comments,

some even rejoicing at her death.

It’s going to be cold in Minnesota—

wind chills as low as -60.

The snow car and driver

will be around a long time.

Perhaps long enough

for the haters to find 

their humanity.

Jan Chronister is a retired educator who splits her year between the extremes of northern Wisconsin (by Lake Superior) and southern Georgia. She has authored three full-length poetry collections and twelve chapbooks. Jan edits and publishes the work of fellow poets under the imprint of Poetry Harbor.

GOOD NIGHT AMERICA, JANUARY 2026

by Bonnie Jo Campbell

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News.

Good night almighty oaks, good night acorns
snug in shells. Goodnight hens, asleep on perches. 
Good night good people of Minneapolis St. Paul
hanging sheets of plastic over doors broken down 
by ICE agents. Lullaby your little ones to sleep.  
Good night neighbors with cameras and whistles. 
Good night Mr. President, tweeting your fury,
slide easy into haunting dreams of disloyalty, 
 
dreams of failed plastic surgery, bad poll numbers,
dreams of not enough admirers or paying guests—
Remember the kerfuffle when caviar was served 
at Mar-a-Lago in tiny plastic spoons? Never enough! 
It’s natural to want more caviar, money and power. 
It’s natural to want kids not to be afraid or hungry
or molested or separated or zip-tied or teargassed. 

Bonnie Jo Campbell’s latest novel is The Waters, W.W. Norton, 2024.

MY COUNTRY FOR A MEDAL

by Anne Herrick

Partially based on lines from Shakespeare's Richard III, Act 5

Cartoon by Ann Telnaes

My medal, 

            my medal!  

                        America undone for my medal.

 

            Forsooth, sire, I will assist you

            in claiming this precious gold

 

Loyalist, I have lain my life upon this medal

I have set seven squabbles to peace—

Nay—I have in fact settled eight.

I must therefore have my medal.  

I will, I must, doom America for my medal.

 

Courageous Sire, it is Norway 

which has undone your gold,

I must find the wretch 

that decreed the providence of this prize

 

Great God of Heaven, say amen to all!

I will usurp, I will slay, this Danish bloody dog

which hath denied what has always been my due.

I will pluck this traitor’s foreign Greenland

and put its gold upon my oval mantelpiece.

 

            On bended knee I needs say, my Gracious Sire 

            that Denmark is not quite where is Norway —

            it is avowedly smallest, in the cold North Sea.

 

Oh, Slave, I will choose who is to blame.

I will push Denmark to weep in streams of blood.

I will save Greenland from Denmark’s yoke of tyranny,

dig far into the bowels of its land,

will cast its destiny with the doomed dome of America.

I know that true hope flies with swallow’s wings,
that it is the meaner creatures that make kings.

Anne Herrick has published a few poems and prose in the US and UK.