DEATH TAX

by Mark Hendrickson

In honor of the 250th anniversary of the United States of America, President Donald J. Trump’s signature will appear on future U.S. paper currency along with the Secretary of the Treasury, marking the first time in history for a sitting president. —US Treasury Dept., March 26, 2026

According to a website calculator

what I paid in taxes last year

bought the government 

350 to 500 rounds of ammo.

 

I wonder if I bought the bullets

that killed Pretti and Good

in Minneapolis

by men in masks

 

Or perhaps I helped pay

for the tomahawk missile

that killed over 100 girls

in a school in Iran.

 

I protest policies,

but pay my taxes

the way I was taught

good Americans should.

 

In this way I’m complicit.

Every dollar I send

will be signed by the culprit,

and signed off by me.

Mark Hendrickson (he/him) is a poet and writer in the Des Moines area navigating the Sturm und Drang of daily life through wordcraft. His words appear in The Ekphrastic Review, The New Verse News, and Modern Haiku. Follow him @MarkHPoetry, https://www.chillsubs.com/profile/mhendrickson

 or on his website: www.markhendricksonpoetry.com

SHOTS FIRED

by Brian Forehand

Again they preach this backwards gospel
Hating the sinner yet loving the sin
Protecting the rights of the assassins
they willfully arm again and again
with inaction, blind faith revealed 
in the whistling sound whizzing past their deaf ears
 
Holding harmless again this loaded gun
Vending ammo like chewing gum
triggering semiautomatic responses
blaming misfiring synapses or fiery rhetoric 
Awaiting again the false prophet’s ascension  
Fist pumped into the still pierced air
 
Anointed in blood, the worshipers witness
rushed motorcade departing
traveling this road they laid and repaved
built by their hands and blessed
with their words, this karmic path
that led them to this judgement day.


Brian Forehand is a creative polymath with too many interests and too little time. A late bloomer, he only recently embarked upon the cathartic practice of writing poetry. He lives in Washington, DC with his husband and their stripy cat.

THE POLITICS OF FAITH AND CULTURE

by Cecil Morris

At the corner of faith and culture in Southern Washington,

the Christian conservative congressional candidate 

says that she will bring Scripture-filled and Spirit-infused Prayers 

for the Battlefield to the halls of congress to fight for faith, 

to make us kneel in the benevolent and delighted light of Christ.

She says that she is MomStrong and homeschool smart, 

the author of a bunch of books celebrating bibles

and moms. She says that she puts babies first, that they are her first

and most important constituents, both gift and purpose.

She says that she stands for gun rights and ammo. She says

that she is unapologetic, which means, I suppose,

that she does not ask for or need forgiveness, does not know

contrition. She says that there are just two genders, that God

created them in his image male and female, and I think

that she believes in a hermaphroditic deity,

a god of two genders at once, that she worships a god

with cock and cunt. Or maybe her god is gender fluid,

a male today, a female tomorrow, a god who goes back

and forth as it pleases or as it is necessary

like His perfected creations the Lythrypnus dalli

or Crepidula fornicata or Cornu aspersum.

Or maybe her conception of god is genderless,

more idea or ideal than body—disembodied

and beyond gender concerns. Is creation wrong

or is God or is this Christian candidate mistaken

in her understanding of what God meant or means?

I don’t know. But here, amid the multiple wonders

of this world, amid the incredible diversity

of this life, would God have given us just two genders,

a paltry coin-flip two, an either-or, a binary choice,

a mere dichotomy, a language of only two words

while all around us hums such a rich abundance.

I do not know the mind of God (if such a thing exists),

but I do know for certain sure that I do not want

this person to have the power to govern over me.

Author's Note: The italized portions of lines 3-4 and 13-14 come from (first) Heidi St. John’s website promoting her books, podcasts, and ministry and (second) from her campaign ad aired on KGW Portland on July 22, 2022.

Cecil Morris, a retired high school English teacher, divides his time between Oregon and California.  He has poems in or forthcoming from 3Elements, Ekphrastic Review, English Journal, Evening Street Review, Hiram Review, Hole in the Head Review, The New Verse News, Scapegoat, Talking River Review, and other literary magazines.

FAMILY PHOTO

by Rémy Dambron

The following poem comments on the deranged photos of Republican politicians and their children holding weapons of war.  We shall not post these photos. Instead, in union with  MeidasTouch.com, we memorialize the teens who were murdered recently in Michigan due to the Fascist fetishization of guns: Hana St. Juliana, 14, Tate Myre, 16, Justin Shilling, 17, Madisyn Baldwin, 17.

this year 

for christmas

a family poses 

in front of their sparkling tree

for a holiday picture with their loved ones:

mr. m60 as head of household

mrs. thompson semi-auto as his loyal wife

m16, m4, ar-15 as their model children

and of course their youngest, 

little uzi.

their white teeth shining 

through their grins with pride 

wishing us more than just a

“merry christmas”

their eyes ecstatic 

their appetites indulged

their hearts content  

together, their stockings waiting to be filled,

they ask santa:

“please bring us ammo”

together, fully loaded, 

their bullets will number in the hundreds.

together, fully loaded,

they can unleash holy hell in a matter of seconds.

together, unloading on our gaze,

they gloat 

they glorify

they galvanize.

merely days after the latest killing 

spree school day

together, for christmas,

they remind us

this is america.

Rémy Dambron is an English teacher and poet whose writing focuses on denouncing political corruption and advocating for social/environmental justice. With the help of his chief editor and loving wife, his works have appeared in What Rough Beast, Poets Reading the News, Writers Resist, Society of Classical Poets, Robot Butt, and New Verse News.

MAKE-BELIEVE QUEEN BEY

by Matty Layne

many a gay have played Beyoncé
for a day. a night really. we drag our-
selves on stage, reach for revenge in
that paper—those ones & fives we tuck
under the seams. tuck, like everything else

between our thighs. down in the bayou,
I wove a weave into my own fair hair,
glued fierceness to my lashes, layered
my face w/ base after a close shave—
that green shimmering beneath my eyes.

how i filled nude hose with rice, tied two
knots for c cups so the boys could cop
a more natural feel—as if they would
know the difference. how i cinched my love
handles w/ a duct-tape corset, squeezed

into red sequin hot pants & stomped those
six-inch stilettos down the steps. Bootylicious.
i knew my audience. how they watched me—
bite by bite—down that pb&j on stage. they
weren’t ready for that jelly. you can’t serve

a crowd what they expect. but i’ll never be
the Queen. my body can’t fill those cups.
i’ll never wipe away the base & still carry
color on my face. no natural ’fro to tuck
beneath a black beret, & i’d never fit into

leather hot pants these days. i can’t afford
the golden rounds of ammo to drape over my
flat-chested fantasy of what it must be like.
but I do know that bullets look so much
better outside of a beautiful black body.


Matty Layne is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing & Environment at Iowa State University. His queer 'lil ditties on social justice have appeared in or are forthcoming from TheNewVerse.News, This Week in Poetry & The Furious Gazelle.

FOG FORCES CANCELLATION OF MILWAUKEE AIR SHOW

by Ed Werstein

Fog leads to cancellation of Milwaukee lakefront air show Saturday  --Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, June 21, 2014

If only it were that easy
to stop a real bombing raid
mothers all over the world
would pray for bad weather
everyday
to spare their homes
their homelands
their children.

But here on Milwaukee’s lakefront
the spectacle is rescheduled for tomorrow.

This roaring assault on eardrums
and sensibilities is nothing
compared to the price paid by others
for the live ammo show
rain or shine.

Here, parents bring the kids
wave flags
eat ice cream.


Ed Werstein, Milwaukee, Wisconsin spent 22 years in manufacturing and union activity before his muse awoke and dragged herself out of bed. He advocates for peace and against corporate power. A member of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, his poetry has appeared in Verse Wisconsin, Blue Collar Review, Mobius: Journal of Social Change, Stoneboat. His first chapbook Who Are We Then? was published in 2013 by Partisan Press.

THE SMOKING OF ANOTHER SHARPSHOOTER

by Tricia Knoll

Joshua Mitchell wore the soccer jersey of younger brother Emilio Hoffman during graduation who was shot and killed by fellow student Jared Michael Padgett, 15, just two days ago in the school locker room in Troutdale. Randy L. Rasmussen/The Oregonian, June 12, 2014

There was smoke, a girl crouching in a locker room
saw smoke, smelled it, heard the rattle of shells
and ammo in a flack jacket filled with fumbling fingers
looking to reload.

There was smoke in the mind of the boy
who carried the guns from home.

The deadly smoke of anger,
a soul burning
with wrongs

all wrongs
done to him
he’d do unto others.

He died in his poison smoke,
our confusion of fog
hanging in the trees
the morning of graduation
like a death sentence.


Tricia Knoll is a Portland, Oregon poet -- who taught high school English for eight years not far from Reynolds High School. 

THE TWELVE DAYS OF DRAWDOWN

by David Feela

Image source: Snaxattacks

On the first day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
a drone in a foreign country.

On the second day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the third day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the fourth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the fifth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the sixth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the seventh day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
seven ROTC raincoats,
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the eighth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
eight Israeli gas masks,
seven ROTC raincoats,
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the ninth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
nine nylon butt packs,
eight Israeli gas masks,
seven ROTC raincoats,
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the tenth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
ten aircraft tie downs,
nine nylon butt packs,
eight Israeli gas masks,
seven ROTC raincoats,
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the eleventh day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
eleven Swedish headlamps,
ten aircraft tie downs,
nine nylon butt packs,
eight Israeli gas masks,
seven ROTC raincoats,
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

On the twelfth day of drawdown
my sergeant gave to me
twelve Kevlar helmets,
eleven Swedish headlamps,
ten aircraft tie downs,
nine nylon butt packs,
eight Israeli gas masks,
seven ROTC raincoats,
six ammo boxes,
five IEDs...,
four rocket launchers,
three folding stretchers,
two parachutes,
and a drone in a foreign country.

David Feela writes a monthly column for The Four Corners Free Press and for The Durango Telegraph. A poetry chapbook, Thought Experiments, won the Southwest Poet Series. His first full length poetry book, The Home Atlas appeared in 2009. His new book of essays, How Delicate These Arches  , released through Raven's Eye Press, has been chosen as a finalist for the Colorado Book Award.