REAL SUPERMAN

(and "nevah" means “not ever”)

by Regina YC Garcia

Superman would nevah….

pledge allegiance to Lex Luthor

beat down the Tamale Lady

snatch a child from a loving mother

snatch a  loving mother from the grasp of  a terrified child

cage them  strip them  from each other 

pull them from the light of hope 

Superman would nevah….

dump Mr. Terrific from his chair

keep him from accessing his reasonable accommodations

cancel his yearly checkup 

lie about his color… his culture… his merit 

leave him hungry… emaciated… prey for predators 

Superman would nevah….

set fire to non-perishable food

soak the ashes in a blood-soaked ground

willingly hand his red cloak to the enemy that they might cover the eyes of the innocents 

     and steal  their liberty

Superman would nevah….

forget the “Golden Rule”

shut down opportunities 

enlist the fools to join a league of injustice

     that they might  overtake the land

Superman would save the alligators 

from the monsters that built shoddy cages and dangled distraught meat from unclean hands 

Superman would nevah….

forget where he came from

forget who helped him and loved him

     all along the way 

forget that we all have a part to play

     a part that bends towards justice

     redefines the American way

     a way that ushers in a prosperity

     that ensures we all stay free 

     and more 

          and even more 

(unnecessary too tall buildings and death waters be damned)

Regina YC Garcia is a national award-winning poet, professor, and language artist from Greenville, NC. She is a twice-nominated Puscart nominee, and her work has been widely published in a variety of journals reviews and anthologies, as well as musical compositions and documentaries. She is the author of two collections of poetry—Whispers from the Multiverse (Aquarius Press/Willow Books, February 2025) and The Firetalker’s Daughter (Finishing Line Press, March 2023).

I CAN’T HEAR YOU

by Chad Parenteau

the chief 

of sticks

proclaimed.

Too busy

turning on

faucets

 

hoping to

sluice away

immigrants

 

back down

to Mexico. 

Water. 

 

It goes 

right down

the hole.

 

Know that

from pre-k

diarrhea.

 

Excuse me.

Listening

for cracks

 

and all of

the people

falling through.

 

Once screams

finally stop

close hole.

 

Not right now.

Reapplying 

ear stigmata.

 

Need to have

gold card to

reach in here.

 

Have these 

documents 

to soak out

 

in deep south

salted by tears

of crocodiles 

 

that are now

jealous of 

our alligators.

Chad Parenteau hosts Boston's long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His latest collection is The Collapsed Bookshelf. His poetry has appeared in journals such as Résonancee, Molecule, Ibbetson Street, Pocket Lint, Cape Cod Poetry Review, Tell-Tale Inklings, Off The Coast, The Skinny Poetry Journal, The New Verse News, dadakuku, Nixes Mate Review and anthologies such as French Connections and Reimagine America. He serves as Associate Editor of the online journal Oddball Magazine.

INAUGURATION DAY 2025, THE PELICANS ARRIVE

by Catherine Arra

White grace floats the lake, rippling in icy torrents

of another Trump tirade.

 

A stopover in migration, a congregation

of reacquaintance-feeding-reuniting in purpose.

 

They paddle in silent choreography, know nothing

of deportations, hate-vengeance-greed.

 

Know to stay clear of marsh grass, where alligators

nest-hunt-eat more than needed.

 

Their long-bowed faces remember loss—how easy

to destroy a nest than to build one.

 

They glide into flight formation. Broad webbed feet

flapflapflap in domino percussion.

 

Snowy wings underscore the black of mourning.

They fly away. 

Catherine Arra is a native of the Hudson Valley in upstate New York, where she lives with wildlife and changing seasons until winter, when she migrates to the Space Coast of Florida. Arra teaches part-time and facilitates local writing groups. She is the author of four full-length collections and four chapbooks. Recent work appears in Unleash Lit., Eclectica Magazine, LitBreak Magazine, Poem Alone, and The Ekphrastic Review.