A POET'S SELF-PORTRAIT AS A HOSPITAL BED

by Gil Hoy

More particularly, one of many hospital beds 

in a hospital where my son is being treated

 

for the bone sticking out of his leg 

from a soccer game

 

using my insurance that I bought for him 

because he is too young, only twelve

 

to have bought any insurance of his own. 

Nor has he any right to vote in a country 

 

where his elected representatives 

are about to take away his health insurance 

 

by making mine too expensive to afford.  

This morning, the news shows how easily 

 

this President and this Congress can take away 

a person’s health insurance, my child's, mine

 

or yours, for example, this President 

and this Congress a bit like a hospital bed 

 

in a country as ill as ours is now. 

Whatever hope we now have lies in a hospital bed 

 

and the medicines we can use to remove 

this pestilence, if we can just take them off 

 

the shelf—for there they sit—and use them 

before it’s too late. My son is still young enough 

 

to love me unconditionally, as much as he 

loves soccer, even though I wasn’t strong enough, 

 

nor my countrymen strong enough, to rise up 

and stop this thing from happening. But there is still 

 

time to act if we are strong enough, 

if we are determined enough, to find a cure. 

 

But judging by how things have gone so far, 

who can foresee with what success 

and with what result?

Gil Hoy is a Master’s Class student in fiction and poetry at The Writers Studio in Tucson, Arizona and previously studied at Boston University. Gil's been nominated for a Best of the Net award in poetry. His work has previously appeared in Third Wednesday, Flash Fiction Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Chiron Review, The Penmen Review, Bewildering Stories, Literally Stories, The New Verse News, and elsewhere.

A TIDAL WAVE POEM

by Gil Hoy

in my dream, the strongman threw my pages 
of poems into a wastebasket and told me 
not to write another poem about democracy. 
no more poems about human rights 
and fundamental freedoms, free and fair 
elections, independent branches of government, 
freedom of expression and press, 
constitutional guarantees of civilian authority. 
no more poems about democratic principles 
that fashioned my poems, they, that turned chaos 
and madness into people power, would no longer 
have permission to enter my poems. so instead, 
I wrote a tidal wave poem about a tidal wave coming.
not an about-democracy or about-democratic principles 
type of poem, not a poem about diversity and inclusion, 
one man-one vote, international law, or equal justice 
under the law. no, this poem was about a tidal wave. 
a tidal wave so strong and so powerful, 
so potent and so heavy, it could destroy evil 
in its path. a tidal wave thousands of miles long 
propelled by the strength of the sun, 
the moon and the earth. a tidal wave so 
demanding so dominant that his eyes 
and his lungs looked drowned. 
a tidal wave that yelled
don't ever fuck with my country again. 
a tidal wave so powerful, so so heavy
and strong, that, yes, it deserves its own poem.


Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Tucson, Arizona poet and writer who is studying fiction and poetry at The Writers Studio in Tucson, Arizona and previously at Boston University. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer and a former four-term elected Brookline, MA Selectman. His poetry and fiction have previously appeared in Third Wednesday, Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review,  Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Bewildering Stories, Literally Stories, The New Verse News and elsewhere.

FIRE

by Gil Hoy

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

The hawk

Soars high

in the sky. Humans
Soar higher,
Faster, 
Farther. 

The fish
Swims majestically 
Through the currents 
of the sea. Humans
Swim faster,
Deeper,
Farther. 

Bats,
Whales, 
Dolphins,
Rabbits,
Don’t destroy

the planet.
 
It’s getting hotter outside.

The fires rage and

There’s not enough water. 

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Tucson, Arizona poet and writer who studied fiction and poetry at The Writers Studio in Tucson, Arizona and at Boston University. Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer and a former four-term elected Brookline, MA Selectman. His poetry and fiction have previously appeared in Third Wednesday, Flash Fiction Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Chiron Review, The Galway Review, Right Hand Pointing, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review,  Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Bewildering Stories, Literally Stories, The New Verse News and elsewhere.

WHAT A HORROR MOVIE REALLY LOOKS LIKE

by Gil Hoy

Nightcafé graphic

I got up Wednesday and saw 

She won Vermont. 

Which led me to believe

There was still hope.

 

But then I saw she lost

Alaska, Alabama, Arkansas

California, Colorado, Massachusetts

And all of the rest

 

Which led me to believe 

He must be

A Master Hypnotist.

 

Which led me to believe 

Vermont is special. 

I love Vermont.

 

I thought about Massachusetts. 

 

Which led me to believe 

Maybe the one state that 

Voted for McGovern 

Had changed over the past 52 years.

 

Which led me to believe 

Maybe it was a good thing 

I moved to Arizona.

 

To get a better handle on things

In a swing state.

 

Which led me to believe 

Maybe I should be talking to as 

Many of his supporters as I can 

To try to understand

Where their brains have gone. 

To look for a cure

Before it’s too late.

 

Which led me to believe

That this kind of thing 

 

Has happened before 

In democracies and the results 

Weren’t pretty. Pretty horrific in fact. 

 

Torture, genocide, politicide. 

 

Which led me to believe 

November might be the most 

Important election in history. 

Do or die we might say.

 

Which led me to believe 

We ought to work like hell 

To protect what we have. 

 

Which led me to believe 

We ought to fight like hell 

‘Til the fight is done. 

 

Which led me to believe 

The good guys need 

To keep on believing.

 

 

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Tucson, Arizona poet and writer who studied fiction and poetry at The Writers Studio and at Boston University. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He is a semi-retired trial lawyer and a former four-term elected Brookline, MA Selectman. Hoy’s poetry and fiction have previously appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Chiron Review, Third Wednesday, The Galway Review, Right Hand Pointing, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review,   Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Bewildering Stories, Literally Stories, The New Verse News, and elsewhere.

THINGS I DIDN’T DO WITH THESE EYES & THINGS I DID

by Gil Hoy

The Witness by Matt Paw

1.

I didn’t witness the iceberg-flanked passageways of Antarctica, didn’t spot a kangaroo giving birth to a joey, didn’t see the Beatles live, didn’t descry a proton or an electron, didn’t read all the best books, didn’t see my best friend’s wedding, didn’t read the physics texts that my father taught, didn’t see the world explode in a thermo-nuclear war, didn’t witness democracy crash and burn as of yet, didn’t watch the last polar bear step off the last piece of melting arctic sea ice and drown, didn’t spot God, and didn’t see any sign of Jesus. Instead, I squinted and stared, focused and buckled down, and managed to

                                                                                                              
2.

See a hummingbird at my feeder fly close to my face, spilled tears with them, closed them in rooms filled with smoke, closed them in rooms filled with bigotry, opened them when instructed to do so, opened them when I couldn’t see the forest for the trees, saw too many 100 plus degree days, saw a police officer put his knee on a man’s neck, saw a criminal become President, saw sycophants flatter him, saw the brainwashed follow him, saw Republican challengers afraid to challenge him, saw his fingerprints taken, saw a mugshot taken, and generally witnessed the greatest threat to American democracy since the founding of the Republic with no way yet to see with what effect and what result.

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Tucson, Arizona poet and writer who studied fiction and poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program and The Writers Studio in Tucson, Arizona. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer. His poetry and fiction have previously appeared in Bewildering Stories, Literally Stories, Tipton Poetry Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Chiron Review, The Galway Review, Right Hand Pointing, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review,  Third Wednesday, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, The New Verse News, and elsewhere.

LESSER HARMS

by Gil Hoy

I watched Liz Cheney  

on Meet the Press.

 

I think 

I’m warming up 

to her.

 

You heard me right. 

 

The same Liz Cheney 

 

Who opposes abortion rights.

 

You heard me right.

 

The same Liz Cheney 

 

Who loves guns, 

Hates immigrants 

and too much voting. 

 

      Who opposes police reform 

      and Obamacare

 

Who wants to ignore 

the warming earth.

 

Who likes ‘scription drugs 

that cost too much, 

and wealthy corporations 

that pay no taxes.   

 

You heard me right.

 

The same Liz Cheney

 

      Whose father 

      was 

      a war crim’nal.

 

“No one of any party should support 

election deniers.”

 

“No one should be out 

advocating for any candidate

who will not honor 

the sanctity of our election process.”

 

“We are talking about multiple instances 

of criminal misconduct by 

the former President of the United States.”

 

“I will do whatever it takes to make sure Donald Trump 

is never President again. He will not be the President 

of the United States again.”

In today’s Republican Party,

even a Cheney 

can taste and smell 

sort of good.

 

In today’s Republican Party,

even a Cheney 

can taste pretty good

and smell somewhat sweet.

 

 

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Tucson, Arizona poet and writer who studied fiction and poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a BA in Philosophy from BU, an MA in Government from Georgetown University and a JD from the University of Virginia School of Law. Hoy wrestled on BU’s wrestling team and finished in second place in the New England University Wrestling Championships his senior year. He served as a Brookline, MA Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, The Galway Review, Right Hand Pointing, Indian Periodical, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The New Verse News, The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, and elsewhere.

ODDS AND ENDS

by Gil Hoy

Dan Hudson. "Garbage Can" (1992), oil on panel, 24×34 inches.

On Wednesdays, 

I take my trash down to the curb. 

There's a blue bin for recyclables, 

a black bin for regular trash

and a brown bin for yard waste. 

You can tell a lot about a man 

from the contents of his trash. 

 

Our neighbor is obsessed with Covid 

and now buys most of her things 

on Amazon. Her son got sick a year ago, 

was in intensive care for three weeks 

and then died. Her blue bin is filled 

with broken down boxes every week. 

 

Her husband stays inside and has started 

drinking again. There are three or four

empty wine or bourbon bottles 

in their blue bin every week. 

 

A divorcee a few houses down  

worries about getting old. Her black bin 

holds the week's trash from products 

promising to make her gray hair brown again 

and remove the wrinkles from her face. 

She's put on weight since her husband left her 

for a younger woman five years ago. 

There are often three or four 

empty pizza boxes in her black bin. 

 

You can tell a lot about a woman

from the contents of her trash. 

 

Another neighbor has three birch trees 

next to his driveway. His yard waste bin 

is filled with grass the yard boy cut 

and birch tree branches that once encroached 

upon his driveway. His shiny Mercedes 

can now get in and out again without a scratch. 

His regular trash bin has empty pill bottles 

used to keep his blood pressure down. He bought 

the Mercedes and keeps his yard carefully 

manicured to keep up with his neighbors.

 

A house up the road has two recyclable bins 

that are always full. The house's black bin 

never has much trash at all. The owner works 

for a company that reduces greenhouse gases 

and makes our water cleaner. The owner 

attends political events most nights 

focusing on climate change. 

 

You can tell a lot about people 

from the trash they don't have.

 

A neighbor on the next street over 

is an accountant. His blue bin is filled 

with shredded paper: tax schedules, 

financial statements and old tax returns. 

By the time April 15 comes around, 

he has three blue bins that are overflowing.

 

Another one of my neighbors 

doesn't play by the rules.  

He puts his trash out early most weeks. 

And then he's fined by our Town. 

He was arrested a while back 

for stealing money from his clients 

and had to spend a few years 

away from his family. 

 

You can tell a lot about a person  

from how they handle their trash.

  

And as for me, my trash is not 

what it used to be. My wife passed away 

suddenly and the kids have all grown up 

and moved away. I don't talk with them 

or see them much anymore. 

 

I miss the deflated balloons from birthday parties 

and worn out hockey skates that used to be 

in my black bin. And the leaves that filled 

my yard waste bin when I could sometimes 

get the boys to rake. I miss my wife's 

empty fancy shampoo bottles 

I used to put in my blue bin.

 

On a good week, when I'm eating well, 

my bins may be as much as a quarter full. 

But most weeks, they're as empty 

as an old man's broken heart.  

 

You can tell a lot about a man 

from the contents of his trash. 

Editor's note: The losses mentioned in the final four stanzas of the poem are suffered by the poem's Speaker and not, thankfully, by its author. 

 

 

Gil Hoy is a widely published Boston poet and writer who studied poetry and writing at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. While at BU, Hoy was on the wrestling team and finished in second place in the New England University Wrestling Championships at 177 lbs. He served as an elected Brookline, Massachusetts Select Board Member for four terms. Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer. His work has recently appeared in Best Poetry Online, Muddy River Poetry Review,  Tipton Poetry Journal, Rusty Truck,  Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Chiron Review, The New Verse News, and elsewhere. Hoy was nominated for a Best of the Net award last year.

TURN OUT THE LIGHTS?

by Gil Hoy

Bill Bramhall's editorial cartoon for Thursday, May 20, 2021, as Republican leaders turn against a bipartisan bill to create a January 6 commission for the U.S. Capitol insurrection. (Bill Bramhall/New York Daily News)

Nothing lasts forever.

Democracy’s

 

No exception.

 

We’ve arrived at 

That critical hour. 

 

The moment 

We’ve all been

 

Dreading. 

 

Like the moment

You realize 

 

Your parents 

 

Aren’t perfect. Will

 

America’s democracy 

Hold?

 

When a Grand Old Party

Has lost its soul. 

 

Sold its soul for  

A personality cult. 

 

Sold its soul for 

A man without one.

 

So many abandoned 

Principles. 

 

So many Cowards 

Telling

So many lies.  

 

Is the party over?

Gil Hoy is a widely published Boston poet and writer who studied poetry and writing at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. While at BU, Hoy was on the wrestling team and finished in second place in the New England University Wrestling Championships at 177 lbs. He served as an elected Brookline, Massachusetts Select Board Member for four terms. Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer. His work has recently appeared in Best Poetry Online, Muddy River Poetry Review,  Tipton Poetry Journal, Rusty Truck,  Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Chiron Review, The New Verse News, and elsewhere. Hoy was a Best of the Net nominee last year.

THE MAKING OF A DEMOCRAT

by Gil Hoy

A young boy 

was still growing. 

Still learning 

whether he’d be happy

or he’d be sad. 

 

Early one morning,

his mother was slowly 

backing the family car 

out of the driveway. 

 

She began chanting:

“I love life, 

I love people,

I love the earth.”

 

While tapping her foot

and gently honking 

the car horn.

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet, nominated for a Best of the Net award in 2020, who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy's poetry has previously appeared in The New Verse News, Best Poetry Online, Muddy River Poetry Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Chiron Review, and elsewhere. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms and is a semi-retired personal injury lawyer.

THE SWEETEST WORD

 by Gil Hoy

The sweetest word

I've ever heard

Rhymes with:

Scene, Queen

and Tangerine

Rebellious Teen

and Jimmy Dean.

Lean, Mean

and so Obscene

Gulping down 

some more Caffeine.

Gene, Spleen

and Submarine

Very few 

and far Between.

Keen, Glean

and coffee Bean

Riding in

a Limousine.

The sweetest word

I've ever heard?

Vaccine.

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy's poetry has previously appeared in Rat’s Ass Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Ariel Chart, Right Hand Pointing, Indian Periodical, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change,  The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, Chiron Review, and elsewhere. He is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for 12 years and is a semi-retired trial lawyer.

SIMILE

by Gil Hoy

So now he's said:

 "Maybe 

I'll have to leave 

the country 

if I lose the election." 

You mean 

like a fleeing felon 

trying to get away?

All of America's birds

gone South

Will then be seen 

flying north.

Every hibernating thing

will be waking early.

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Boston poet who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy from BU, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for 4 terms. Hoy's poetry has appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, Right Hand Pointing, Indian Periodical, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The New Verse News, Rat's Ass Review, the penmen review, and elsewhere. 

VOICES FROM THE PAST

by Gil Hoy

Their homes, cone-shaped poles
of wood covered with buffalo hides.
Set up to break down quickly
to move to a safer place.

She sits inside of one of them.
Adorning her dresses, her family’s shirts
with beads and quills.

Watches over her children. Skins, cuts
and cooks the buffalo meat. Pounds clothes
clean with smooth wet river rocks.

When she sees the blue cavalry
advancing, she begins to run again.
Is that what made America great,
back then?

African families working hard
on hot cotton farms. Sunrise to sunset,
six days a week. Monotony broken only
by their daily beatings. By their singing
of sad soulful songs.

Like factories in fields, dependent solely
upon the demands of cotton and cloth.

You could buy a man for a song, back then.
Is that what made America great,
once again?

There are swastikas in our streets today.
Black men being murdered. Whitelash.
While the new man at the top
tweets videos ranting of white power.
While the old man at the top
says he’ll make America great again.

They say the full moon was bigger and brighter
last year than it’s been in 73 years.
Than it’s been since Jackie Robinson
played his first big league baseball game.

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Boston poet and semi-retired trial lawyer who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared most recently in Right Hand Pointing, Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, Indian Periodical, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, and TheNewVerse.News.

BELIEFS

by Gil Hoy

I believe in the power of positive thinking.
I don't believe we all get our just deserts.
I believe if you're happy, it's contagious.
I don't believe only the good die young.
I believe George Floyd was murdered.
I don't believe you go to heaven when you die.
I believe watching too much news will put you
in the madhouse. I don't believe riots and violence
solve anything. If you want to be a good poet, you need
to learn how to write. I believe that every life matters.
I don't believe you should always eat everything
on your plate. I believe keeping close with your family
is emotionally healthy. I don't believe you always get
what you pay for. I believe in Dr. King's prescription
for social change. I don't believe a parachute
will save you if you jump off of Mt. Everest. I believe
you need to be circumspect in your beliefs. If you want
to be a bad poet, make sure you don't write very well.
I wouldn't plant grass seed that I knew would not grow.
I believe the video is just the tip of the iceberg.

Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Boston poet, semi-retired trial lawyer, and progressive political activist who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts, Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared most recently in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, TheNewVerse.News, The Potomac, and The Penmen Review.

ELEGY

by Gil Hoy

Source: Dignity Memorial

An old dear friend of mine passed on April 16.
I, like many others, will sorely miss him.

“We have it totally under control. It’s one person
coming in from China. It’s going to be just fine.”

My friend, Berton, was a 90 year-old gentleman
who lived in a nursing home in Beverly, Massachusetts.
Last month, he succumbed to complications from the coronavirus.

Bert enjoyed reading poetry to the workers at his nursing home.
They looked forward to it. He also played music for them
and was generous in expressing his gratitude for the comfort
and care they provided him.

"We think we have it very well under control. We have
very little problem in this country—five—and those people
are all recuperating successfully."

As a boy, Bert spent much of his time helping family fishermen
haul in their catch from the local pier. He always loved the sea.

"Now, the virus, a lot of people think that goes away in April
with the heat. Typically, that will go away in April.
We’re in great shape. We have 12 cases—11 cases,
and many of them are in good shape now.”

Bert was a soldier in the Korean War. He later served
his community as a social worker, professor, counselor
and political activist.

“So we’re at the low level. And we could be at just one
or two people over the next short period of time.”

Bert loved everyone. Everyone he encountered
knew that he did.

“And again, when you have 15 people, and the 15
within a couple of days is going to be down to close to zero,
that’s a pretty good job we’ve done.”

My old friend raged against poverty and injustice. He worked
throughout his life to create more affordable housing.

“It’s going to disappear. One day—it’s like a miracle—
it will disappear.”

Bert attended the 1963 March on Washington. He later taught
at Tufts School of Medicine and the University of Massachusetts.
His students admired him greatly.

“No, I’m not concerned at all. No, we’ve done a great job with it.”

My dear friend was a lover of poetry throughout his life. His two
favorite verses were: "My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow
in the sky," and "My love is like a red, red rose."

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet and semi-retired trial lawyer who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. His poetry has appeared, or will be appearing, most recently in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, TheNewVerse.News, Right Hand Pointing, MisfitMagazine, Mobius: Journal of Social Change, Ariel Chart and elsewhere.

SHOPPING AT THE SUPERMARKET

by Gil Hoy

Shoppers appear to be lined up six feet apart outside a Market Basket in Chelsea, Massachusetts, on April 2, 2020, as the grocery store chain implements new social distancing guidelines. —nbc Boston

You don't want to be there, but your family has to eat.
Which is just the two of us now. I'm waiting and walking
in lines made from rope. Like the roped-off lines
we used to see on a busy day at Disney World
with the kids. Today's anticipation is different.
Just hungering for the food you need to survive.

It's my son's birthday today. He's studying to become a doctor.
Sitting in his room in a suddenly faraway State. He's learning
human anatomy on a computer. The half-dissected cadaver
in his school laboratory will simply have to wait. I worry about
him sitting there all alone.

A police officer is cautioning customers to stay at least
six feet apart. I clean my hands with one of those sanitizer
things before going in. I'm proud I've not bought
any toilet paper yet. Can it really be caught
through the air like a plague?

I've never spent so much time alone with my wife.
Is she worried I'm getting bored with her?
I wonder if she's getting bored with me. No one
can be entertaining for this long. Such expectations
are unrealistic. I sense her panic as she watches
the news.  She's still able to connect with other
real estate brokers from her office for an hour a day
on her computer. They talk about the best ways
to sell homes at a distance.

Most everyone inside the supermarket is wearing
a blue or white mask. They look like shabby doctors
and nurses. I pick out some chicken and put it
in my cart with a box of strawberries. A lady
standing too close to me has a distant stare. As if
she's half-dead. I suspect she has no family or friends.

Just a few weeks ago, my street-smart son was serving
us oysters, fish and wine for dinner at a fancy restaurant.
Like he did every Sunday. They won't let him work now
so he and his girlfriend are barely getting by on one-half
of their pay from the government. We ordered dinner
delivered to them the other night and they seemed
appreciative. And happy for a while. My daughter
and her husband are holed up in Palo Alto
doing computer and engineering work. They're
still getting paid and still drive their new Tesla.
She likes to read my poetry these days.

I see there are still live lobsters for sale
in the seafood section. Their number is depleted
from what they once were. They're subdued and sullen.
They're not moving in their tank. I wonder
how long they have to live.

My father won't stop texting me on my cell phone
and messaging me on Facebook. We haven't spoken
in 20 years. Old high school friends want to travel
down memory lane, over and over again. Texting
and messaging me until my eyes are ready
to bug out of my head. Everyone is trying to settle
old scores and pay off their debts. I'm sorry to see
there's no beer left in the cooler for purchase
as I head towards the cashier to pay.

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet and semi-retired trial lawyer who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. He previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. Hoy served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. His poetry has appeared, or will be appearing, most recently in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, TheNewVerse.News, Right Hand Pointing, MisfitMagazine, Mobius: Journal of Social Change, Ariel Chart and The Penmen Review.

BUG

by Gil Hoy

I know it's not
what you want,
but I can't live
if I can't get
inside of you.
To be precise,
I'm not really living
at all. I have no cellular
organelles, no DNA.
I can't grow on my own
and require your genetic
instructions to survive.
I can't continue to multiply
and thrive outside of you. Soap
and water are my kryptonite. Is it
selfish of me to want to exist?
I pray you don't really think so.
Even if  what I have is not much
of a life. Please consider things
from my perspective. If I could,
I'd organize my fellow contagions.
Get us all together to create
a super Pac. I long to keep
the status quo. Both Biden
and Sanders, they scare me.
They listen to scientists. That
nescient man in the White House
doesn't understand what I'm about.
Which is fine with me. Think of me
as a microscopic, infective agent
just looking to blossom. Be kind,
be compassionate come November.
Let's keep our arrangement of quiet
indifference intact. Let's just leave
well enough alone.

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet, Democratic political activist, and semi-retired trial lawyer. He studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared, or will be appearing, in TheNewVerse.News,  Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, MisfitMagazine, The Potomac, The Penmen Review, One Sentence Poems and elsewhere.

NOVEMBER 2020

by Gil Hoy

Graphic: MoveOn.org

When the poet's
arrow hits the mark,

a wishful paragraph
can become

a single word:

Blue

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet and served four terms as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman. He is a member of the Brookline Democratic Town Committee. 

HOW TO SETTLE A PERSONAL INJURY CASE

by Gil Hoy

Find out what they lost.
Maybe it's lost wages. Maybe
the monetary equivalent of
a permanent scar. Get
the medical bills paid. Past,
present and future. Robert
was just 18 years-old when
he stepped on a land mine
in Vietnam. Fresh
out of high school. Had always
dated the same girl.
You'll need to establish who
caused your client's misfortune.
And how they're responsible.
Maybe they ran a red light. Maybe
they forgot to turn off the stove
when heating up olive oil. What
you're looking for is money. The more
the better. How much is the loss
of a loved one worth? And an
amputated arm? Robert's
girlfriend is now married. His parents
have had to move on. They keep
his gold star pin beside their bed.

These images provided by the U.S. Army Special Operations Command show (left) Sgt. 1st Class Antonio R. Rodriguez, 28, of Las Cruces, New Mexico, and Sgt. 1st Class Javier J. Gutierrez, 28, of San Antonio, Texas, who died Feb. 8, 2020 from wounds sustained during combat operations in Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan. (US Army Special Operations Command via AP)

Gil Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer. Most of his cases were in the field of personal injury law.

HERO

by Gil Hoy




The sun rises, just as splendidly
and majestically as she did
the day before. And the day
before that. He'll be fine,
he thinks, for telling the truth.
The Lieutenant Colonel, with a
Purple Heart, is honest and steadfast.
He loves his Country. She's oblivious
to the impending tempest--ignorant
and innocent. He's not worried, unaware
of his coming marching orders.
For this is America--not the Soviet Union.

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet and progressive political activist. He served four terms as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman.

SMALL TALK

by Gil Hoy





What breed of turmoil
and woe are we seeing, when

casual conversation
about favorite movies
can seem uncaring,

tacit silence
in the face of
so many lies.

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet, semi-retired trial lawyer, and progressive, political activist who is studying poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared most recently in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, TheNewVerse.News, Ariel Chart, The Potomac, The Penmen Review and elsewhere.