AT TACO BELL

by Buff Whitman-Bradley

on Earth Day 2023

Art by Yinza

At Taco Bell

I watch a crow

Reconnoiter the parking lot

For scraps and morsels

Of sustenance.

With it’s dagger-like

Sleek black beak

It flips over

Discarded take-out cartons,

Pokes into empty soda cups,

Snaps up torn bits

Of tortillas,

All without surrendering

A shred of its natural dignity.

As it struts defiantly,

Like a corvid Napoleon,

In front of oncoming cars,

Its spine remains perfectly straight,

Its head held high,

Its bearing proud.

“Get me a burrito,”

The crow orders.

“Hot sauce?” I ask.

“Get me a root beer,”

The crow commands.

“Small, medium, or large?”

I inquire.

Here is a bird

Of natural authority,

A bird with no self-doubt,

A bird who was born 

To take charge.

You’d think with all 

These leadership qualities

Crows might have an interest

In running for public office, but

Too smart to be Republicans,

Too forthright 

To be Democrats,

Crows are dyed-in-the-quills anarchists

Who believe that no crow

Is better than any other crow,

And that no government is better

Than no government.

Buff Whitman-Bradley’s poems have been widely published in print and online journals.  His latest book is And What Will We Sing? (Kelsay Books). He podcasts at thirdactpoems.podbean.com and lives in northern California with his wife, Cynthia.

VLAD THE BAD

by Richard Schiffman

His most execrable excellency,

Czar Vlad the Bad, 

a pint-sized Napoleon wannabe in a Gucci suit

decreed ten thousand widows,

and so they were before the cock crowed twice, 

on the morning he deemed cancelled

in the city he called dust.

Just your standard issue human madness.

Of course, of course. A monomaniacal error.

A payback for fanciful slights.

The psycho-historians will have a field day

while the citizenry sleep in the subway,

or pack the next train out.

But how to get away from that feverish brain,

that heart of burning petrol?

There isn’t a bunker deep enough to hide in.

Bankers on six continents dole out the pain.

No SWIFT Code for the codeless.

Oligarchs go yachtless. The ruble is rubble.

Meanwhile, the nuclear finger twitches.

A shudder ripples down nine billion spines.

The spineless despot preens for the cameras,

shows off his cadaverous abs. 

It’s flesh and blood 

below the tailored shirt, for sure, for sure,

fresh meat for a million gurneys.

Dead man walking pale as a crematorium

holds court in a palace of white marble. 

One nation huddles in the basement.

Another weeps and hides its face.

Richard Schiffman is an environmental journalist, poet and author of two biographies. His poems have been published in The New Verse News, Alaska Quarterly, Rattle, The New Ohio Review, The Christian Science Monitor, The New York Times, Writer’s Almanac, This American Life in Poetry, Verse Daily, and other publications. His first poetry collection What the Dust Doesn't Know was published in 2017 by Salmon Poetry. 

THE LAST DAYS OF TYRANNY

by Mukund Gnanadesikan




Mustachioed Napoleon
Kalashnikov-bearing Narcissus,
Stands on his balcony, waves
Proclaims his potency
Knowing he is but a puffer fish.
The coalescing crowd
Becomes a famished tiger shark.
He must depart, fade into shadow
Or blood that flows
Will no longer spring from innocents
But from his pump that counts its mortal days.
Even uniformed lackeys stand aside
Listen as harmonic voice of millions
Rises in unison, crescendos,
Pries the strongman’s fingers from his weapon.
Let sentiment engrave in stone
Collective Will and Testament.

Mukund Gnanadesikan’s poetry and short stories have been published in Adelaide Literary Magazine,  Ayaskala, The Bangalore Review, Calliope on the Web, The Cape Rock, Tuck Magazine, Junto Magazine, Meniscus Literary Journal, Blood and Thunder, Poets’ Choice, and Dream Noir, among others. His first novel Errors of Omission is due out in fall of 2020 from Adelaide Books. He lives in Napa, CA, where he practices psychiatry.