ENDORSEMENT

by Judy Rowe Michaels

The end for US President Joe Biden's election hopes was quick and unfolded in almost total secrecy—but Vice President Kamala Harris was ready… Harris "took time to arrange both lunch and dinner for the assembled aides," the source said… "The menu was salad and sandwiches for lunch, and pizza and salad for dinner. The Vice President's pizza came with anchovies, her go-to topping." —AFP, July 23, 2024

My late husband loved

anchovies. I do not.

But Kamala orders anchovies on her

pizza. Good enough for me,

though their salty, abominably

fishy slime does war with my

basic food groups—oatmeal,

Caesar wrap, lox with

schmeer. I have not tried

anchovy as finger food

for my Maine Coon cat,

but Larkin, long-time Democat,

will doubtless rise to

the occasion on his long hind legs

and prance. The smell alone

should do it. No need

to tell him they're endorsed

by the President-Elect.

Judy Rowe Michaels is, clearly, an optimist. A six-time cancer survivor, she speaks about ovarian cancer to medical school classes as part of the national organization Survivors Teaching Students. A retired English teacher and poet in residence, and a poet for the Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation, she has published four poetry collections, most recently This Morning the Mountain, and three books on teaching poetry and creative writing. She has received residencies from Hedgebrook, MacDowell, and the Banff Centre for the Arts. For over twenty years, Michaels has been a member of Cool Women, a monthly critique group that gives readings and publishes group anthologies.

GUZZLING DOWN THE BLUES

a post-election ghazal
by Joe Pacheco

I wake up each morning but can’t turn on the news,
My coffee’s cold and bitter with the Sore Loser Blues.

Start to write a poem, but I can’t find my muse,
She’s run away and left me with just Sore Loser Blues.

Called up Liberty Travel for a one-way Canada cruise,
They told me they’re booked solid with the Sore Loser Blues.

I’m keeping my Clinton sign, in case we didn’t lose,
But don’t know where to hide it with these Sore Loser Blues.

Maybe I’ll jump into the mainstream and drown my liberal views,
It’ll be easier to swim the narrows with the Sore Loser Blues.

The President-elect is desperate, no Dems left to abuse,
He’s willing to twitter anyone with the Sore Loser Blues.

Our nation’s divided, Pacheco, pick a side to choose,
It’s either freeloading Red states or the Sore Loser Blues.

Joseph Pacheco is a retired New York City superintendent  living on Sanibel Island. His  poetry has been featured several times on National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, Latino USA and WGCU. He has performed his poetry with David Amram’s jazz quartet at the Bowery Poets Café and Cornelia Street Café in New York City. He writes a poetry column for the Sanibel Islander and his poetry has appeared in English and Spanish in the News-Press. In 2008 he received the Literary Artist of the  Year award from Alliance for the Arts. He has published three books of poetry, The First of the Nuyoricans/Sailing to  Sanibel, Alligator in the Sky and, Sanibel Joe’s Songbook.

FIVE EXPLANATIONS

by Gilbert Allen

Kudzu kills or damages other plants by smothering them under a solid blanket of leaves, encircling woody stems and tree trunks, and breaking branches or uprooting entire trees and shrubs. Once established, kudzu grows at a rate of one foot per day; mature vines can be 100 feet long. Kudzu was introduced into the U.S. at the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. From 1935 to the mid-1950s, farmers in the South were encouraged to plant kudzu to reduce soil erosion. Kudzu is spread by vines that root at the nodes to form new plants. To successfully control kudzu, its extensive root system must be completely eradicated by cutting vines just above the ground and mowing every month for two growing seasons—all cut material must be destroyed. The U.S. Forest Service is searching for biological control agents for kudzu. —The Nature Conservancy

1. Next to that red American clay, bare
and beckoning as a billionaire’s
baseball cap, it seemed
like a giant green blessing.

2. What else to eat in Nagasaki
in September, 1945,
but its white
indestructible roots?

3. Without kudzu, April in South Carolina
would be too full of blue
skies, flowering dogwoods, azaleas
and itself.

4. Men planted it.
Pigs love it.
Why can’t men be pigs?

5. After the first cold Tuesday in November
it still gives death
a good name.


Gilbert Allen has lived in South Carolina for forty years. His most recent books are Catma and The Final Days of Great American Shopping.