I WILL MISS THE LARGE ANIMALS OF NORTH AMERICA

by Michael Brockley

Woody Guthrie in March 1943.

The bison. The grizzly bears. The jaguars that can’t leap over the wall along the border river. I will miss reading irreverent books. Novels where Jesus has a friend named Biff. Comic books where Deadpool is a hero. I will miss news reporters who know that Kansas City is in Missouri and that Benjamin Franklin never resided in the White House. I will miss the White House. The Smithsonian, the Statue of Liberty, and Yellowstone. I will wonder how Old Faithful might be disappeared. I will miss pennies. And the Beatitudes, the part of the Bible Kurt Vonnegut valued the most. I will miss voting for women. I will miss movies that tell the stories of men and women who don’t look like me. I will miss being able to see Venus and Mars on clear nights. I will miss strawberries and tomatoes and watermelons and sweet potatoes and cranberries and sunflowers and cherries. I will miss guitars with This Machine Kills Fascists scrawled across their bodies. I will miss dogs that look more like wolves than weapons of war. I will miss saying  Feliz Navidad, Fröhliche Weihnachten, and Mele Kalikimaka. I will miss finger-pointing songs. I will miss licorice. Yes, I will even miss licorice.

Michael Brockley is a retired school psychologist who lives in Muncie, Indiana, His prose poems have appeared in Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Red Eft Review, and Unlikely Stories Mark V. Brockley's prose poems are also forthcoming in Ley Lines Literary Review, Seat at the Table, and Alien Buddha.

BLANK SIGNS

by donnarkevic

Anti-war protesters in Russia are being detained by police for holding up blank posters as part of demonstrations protesting against President Vladimir Putin's invasion of Ukraine. —Newsweek, March 15, 2022

Perhaps they believe 

we did not overcome; 

we did not give peace a chance; 

we did not live up to the Beatitudes; 

we did not heed the Buddha 

and keep our hearts free from hate. 

 

Perhaps they know no words 

for the pain of hunger  

on their children’s faces, 

for the lies that gather 

like flies on dead neighbors’ faces, 

for the quiet noise of fleeing refugees. 

 

Perhaps they had enough death, 

enough war, 

and they are left 

with nothing left  

to say. 

Nothing. 

donnarkevic: Buckhannon, WV. MFA National University. Work has appeared in Rattle, Witness, Jewish Currents, Blue Collar Review, and many other literary magazines and anthologies. A Best of the Net and two-time Pushcart nominee with over 300 published poems. Main Street Rag published the novella of poetry After the Lynching, in 2022.