ALL MY AUNTIES WERE THIRD WORLD WOMEN

by Vinay Krishnan

 

when you fly international, one of the TSA’s 

prohibited travel items is solidarity for the world’s 

oppressed. don’t put solidarity in your luggage. you 

can’t leave with that. you definitely can’t come home with 

that. at customs, we need an itemized list of any 

new truths you have in your bags that we’ve been 

hiding from you here in America. empty your 

pockets and prove to me you’re not carrying a 

trinket that connects you to another man’s struggle. 

take off your shoes and socks and place your 

brown feet on this white floor as a reminder. a 

reminder that every border crossing is a strip 

search and a cudgel, distilling you into something 

that fits more easily into an overhead compartment 

or a cage or a grave.

but today I had to laugh at that. because all my 

aunties were third world women. and now we're 

running it back, old and new blessings. all my 

aunties were third world women. all my aunties 

were third world women.

Vinay Krishnan is a writer and community organizer. His poetry has appeared in Cordite Poetry Review, his fiction has appeared in Barren Magazine, and his non-fiction has appeared in SLAM Magazine.

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).

SO, GHISLAINE: A CANARY OR A HAWK?

by Catherine Harnett

AI-generated graphic by Shutterstock for The New Verse News.

are you melodious: a yellow-feathered thing, aloof
and loyal only to its keeper; from sunny Gran Canaria,
where nudists stroll along the bright blue seashore
and helicopters land and lift like damselflies
 
or a taloned bird of prey, a hunter of small mammals,
carnivorous and stealthy, sharp-eyed; with a spectacular loud
courtship: the female bares her claws, tempts a mate
attracted to her savagery, they stick together all their lives.
 
You play both roles with aplomb, content to charm,
perched in an unlocked cage; and hungry, swooping in
for the kill; but it comes down to this: both
are dangerous, a beak and claws, the chance you’ll
sing.

Catherine Harnett is a poet and fiction author from the DC area, the epicenter of corruption. She has published three books of poems and has completed another manuscript.

WHERE THE WILD THINGS WERE

by Mary K O'Melveny

Flaco, the Eurasian eagle-owl whose escape from the Central Park Zoo and subsequent life on the loose in Manhattan captured the public’s attention, died Friday night after apparently striking a building on the Upper West Side, officials said. —The New York Times, February 23, 2024

At some point we all wanted to be Flaco.

To rise above our circumstances,

escape our confined lives,

take flight in open spaces

once known as dreams.

To perch high enough that our

imaginations cannot be captured.

To gain perspective on those details

of our former lives closer to ground

that went missing each day.

At treetop height, our diary of daily

exploits expands like open secrets,

while our fears are as useless as yesterday’s news.

Watch us in awe as shadows of our wings

recede into the far distance.

Up here, we listen to wind symphonies,

sway to syncopated beats of rain drops

on balcony ledges, fire escapes, water towers.

We watch sunsets morph from marigold to auburn to mauve

Aloft, we leap, linger like Nijinsky.

Some said survival was sketchy.

Wild creatures face too many obstacles –

best to keep them caged for longer life.

But they forgot about the thrill of open skies.

How memories expand when airborne.

Mary K O'Melveny is a recently retired labor rights attorney who lives in Washington DC and Woodstock NY.  Her work has appeared in various print and on-line journals. Her poetry collections include Dispatches From the Memory Care Museum (Kelsay Books) and Merging Star Hypotheses (Finishing Line Press).

PLAYING FOOTSIE

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

Like many people, Mr Goxx is dabbling in cryptocurrency, hoping to strike it rich. He's notable for two reasons: first, he is making money, with his lifetime career performance up about 20% –beating many professional traders and funds. Second, Mr Goxx is a hamster. The business-minded rodent has a trading office attached to his regular cage. Every day, when he enters the office, a livestream starts on Twitch, and his Twitter account lets followers know: Mr Goxx has started a trading session. By running in his "intention wheel", he selects which cryptocurrency he'd like to trade, as the wheel spins through the different options. His office floor has two tunnels nearby: one for buy, one for sell. Every time he runs through a tunnel, the electronics wired to his office complete a trade according to Mr Goxx's desires. —BBC News, September 27, 2021

Pronounce F T S E the Footsie way,

Lest others think you're too naive to trade—

Although, as Fur Topped Stock Exchange, you may

Yet stupefy them with the gains you've made!

In Germany, a hamster, Mr. Goxx,

Negotiates his treadmill like a chess

Grand master, moving pieces of his stocks

From here to there to rival the success

Of Footsie and the Dow. By racing through 

Opposing tunnels, he can buy or sell

The cryptocurrency whose trade is due

So expertly, he makes his holdings swell ...

It makes you ask why Wall Street bank elites

Earn such high pay—for trades a hamster beats!

Mike Mesterton-Gibbons is a Professor Emeritus at Florida State University. His acrostic sonnets have appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Better Than Starbucks, the Creativity Webzine, Current Conservation, the Daily Mail, the Ekphrastic Review, Grand Little Things, Light, Lighten Up Online, The New Verse News, Oddball Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, The Satirist, The Washington Post, and WestWard Quarterly.

THE LAWMAN

by Alejandro Escudé

Caricature of former Arizona Sheriff Joe Arpaio by Lem Luminarias.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man—

There is a god in every racist being,
chimeric fool, derogatory chant.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man—

The mind molds prisoners, releases them as well,
fright detracts the willing and the fair.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man—

The foreigner beneath a tarp of fear hides
from the sheriff hunting desolate lands.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man—

More fascist general than lawman, stink
of Southwest sweat, sunglasses large and dim.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man—

I spot the van along the American road,
a hot, disgruntled breeze, no court, and dry as death.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man—

I speak, when helpless, in swallowed knives.
Nowhere to run from the people’s armored beast.

Arpaio sees a cage before the soul
of any brown-skinned man.


Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems My Earthbound Eye in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.