AT WAR WITH MY(USUAL)SELF OVER MTG

by Alessandra Foster

I hate her.

I’m used to hating her.

I don’t want to call forth

a loving heart that says

Everyone has some good in them.

Everyone deserves another chance.

 

Her behavior has always been disgusting.

Witness - unfortunately I did—her vile

and despicable condemnation of Dr. Fauci 

to his face. Unforgettable. Unforgiveable.

 

She’s finally doing something 

on the side of right

and I should praise her for it?

Thank her better angels—

if she has any—that she is possibly

at the start of becoming a better person?

I don’t buy it. No benefit of the doubt.

She’s had years to show me who she is.

 

I actually laughed with amazement

listening to her at the anti Epstein rally.

My sister said, of course she’s a supporter,

she’s a woman.

 

Please. Isn’t she also a mother?

Does she care with a similar passion

about the schoolchildren traumatized/murdered 

because of policies and people she supports?

 

All my life I’ve said, Nobody’s perfect.

Be grateful for any step a person takes.

Don’t expect them to support all your causes.

Don’t expect a big change all at once.

So why is my hatred for her so strong

that I see selfishness and hypocrisy

in standing up for one gender, one issue,

while condemning everyone/everything else

she has sworn to serve and protect? 

 

With another person I would say

Give credit where credit is due. 

It was courageous to oppose other MAGA’s.

But to me she doesn’t deserve women’s gratitude 

so much as she deserves to be used by them for all

they can get out of her.

After all, sometimes it takes a real bitch

to tell the scumbags where to go.

Alessandra Foster. Lifelong and long-lived reader and writer of poems. Published in Bramble, Literary Veganism, Verse-Virtual.

ZEUS REDUX

by Steve Deutsch

We do it by ionizing

the radiation and shifting

the polarization of the earth’s

magnetic core

 

millions of times per second.

We control it

from a basement apartment

in Hoboken—

 

that bluest of blue towns,

paid for by the DNC.

The four of us

do the weathering

 

on two old Apple laptops.

Our biggest concern

is the intermittent loss of the internet.

Damn Comcast.

 

We do our best

to make the heat and storms

believable—

blamable on climate change.

 

What a hoax.

Few have noticed

it is only the red areas

suffering the ill effects.

But now, one or two of the wise

have picked up on it,

I assure you that will end

with completion of our next project.

 

Lightening bolts.

Steve Deutsch is poetry editor of Centered Magazine and was the first poet in residence at the Bellefonte Art Museum. Steve was nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize and once for The Best of the Net Anthology. He has published six books of poetry. One, Brooklyn, was awarded the Sinclair Poetry Prize from Evening Street Press.

WD-40

by Jeff Burt

Craig Bennett

If only we had political strength WD-40, 

that you could spray a little on an MTG or MG 

and the braying, the screeching, the informing 

about its presence could be silenced by a squirt. 

The door would re-assume humility 

in being a utility again, no longer the portal 

which the candidates think they provide

into a yawning perfecting future, 

but simple wood, hinged and soundless,

meant once to be opened, and then kept shut.

Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California and has worked in administration of electronics and mental health care.

EVERYTHING MARJORIE MAY HAVE NEVER SAID

by Chad Parenteau

We swore an oath. Does anyone remember the oath?

Free speech is essential, whether or not we recall it.

They continue to take our freedoms away. Can anyone

tell me what those freedoms were? I don’t recollect 

putting any of those freedoms back on when my mask 

came off. Who took my mask off? I can’t remember 

everyone who voted for me, but I know everyone did, 

and the only way I can win is if everyone forgets that 

I won. Protect the integrity of elections. If this could 

happen during the time of my election, whenever that 

is, I would really appreciate it. Remember when Black 

Lives Matter and Antifa fought over who would storm 

the capitol,  or so I’m told by people I can’t recall. Political

power  comes from the barrel of a gun. Mumia Abu Jamal

said that, according to my notes. That wasn’t free speech 

when he said that. Has America proven those words 

to be true? I’ll have to get back to you if the smoke 

ever clears. There’s two schools of thought to research. 

One of them is CNN, which lies about me. The other 

is NewsMax, which uses my complete sentences

but omits everything else I’ve ever said in my life, 

which I may or may not have said. I don’t remember.

Chad Parenteau hosts Boston's long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His poetry has appeared in journals such as Résonancee, Molecule, Ibbetson Street, Cape Cod Poetry Review, Tell-Tale Inklings, Off The Coast, The Skinny Poetry Journal, and Nixes Mate Review. He serves as Associate Editor of the online journal Oddball Magazine. His second collection, The Collapsed Bookshelf, was nominated for a Massachusetts Book Award.

MARJORIE'S LIQUID SALAD

by Diane Elayne Dees

Antonio Banderas is the only gazpacho policeman 

we have ever known, and he still cuts a fine figure,

in or out of uniform. Perhaps Almodóvar

can call him to duty, for Marjorie has gone

far beyond the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

This time, Officer Carlos will have to stay sober:

The future of an entire nation depends on him,

as he sorts tomatoes and cucumbers and bell peppers 

for Nancy, and collects enough white bread

to thicken the soup before he spikes it,

and renders Congress near-unconscious—

yet how could we tell?

There is no need for spying—

the schemes and plots and crimes

are all on display in plain sight.

Officer Carlos and Nancy eat a cold soup

of anarchy, dishonored pledges, cult devotion,

and blueprints for total destruction,

while an entire nation—on the verge—awaits.

Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbook Coronary Truth (Kelsay Books) and the forthcoming chapbook The Last Time I Saw You. Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women's professional tennis throughout the world.