THE COST OF CAUTION

by Peter Witt

 

Malaysia's Karex Bhd, the world's top condom producer, plans to raise prices by 20% to 30% and possibly further if supply chain disruptions drag on due to the Iran War, its chief executive said on ‌Tuesday. —Reuters, April 21, 2026 

 

 

Safe sex just got more expensive,
the price of latex climbing like a fever.
There’s an oversupply of children on the horizon,
a tidal wave of toddlers waiting to break.

It starts with the fuel, the heavy scent of diesel
rising in cost, slowing the world to a crawl.
Then the cold creeps in. In northern towns,
people turn the heat down, then cuddle 

for warmth under quilts heavy as lead,
and you know what happens next.

In the tropics, the AC hums a frantic tune,
while lovers move in the artificial chill
like dancers in a refrigerated dream.
With the cost of flight soaring high as a hawk,
the world settles for staycations, 
quiet afternoons where the bedroom door
becomes the only destination left.

Without protection, the "frolic" turns to fate.
Be prepared: nine to twelve months from now,
the world may explode with new life,
a sudden reversal of the long decline.,

And while Iran guards its humming centrifuges,
and the nuclear material sits heavy and silent,
Trump stands at the podium, grinning at the chaos,
explaining to the cameras that the crying in the cradles
was all just part of the plan.

 

 

The Trump administration, dominated by religious anti-abortion conservatives and reeling in money from a new wave of pronatalist tech reactionaries, has long been considering ways to persuade, pressure and cajole women into having more babies. —The Guardian, April 14, 2026

Peter A. Witt by chance lives in Texas and is a recovering university professor who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for the Best of the Net award and has appeared in a variety of online and print publications. He also writes family history.  His book about his aunt was published by the Texas A&M University Press (Edith's War: Writings of a Red Cross Worker and Lifelong Champion of Social Justice). He is also an avid birder and wildlife photographer.

THE SANDWICH MAKER

by Pamela Kenley-Meschino

“It’s rare to see a government so eager to prove its critics right in real time. But here we are, watching the Trump administration fire a Justice Department employee, slap him with a felony, and publicly humiliate him—for the crime of calling them “fascists.” That the accusation came seconds before he allegedly threw a sandwich at a Customs and Border Protection agent is almost beside the point. The symbolism is too perfect: in today’s Washington, labeling the regime “fascist” is more scandalous than acting like one...” Nick Anderson, Pen Strokes, August 14, 2025

It probably wasn’t vegan.
Hopefully, it had some heft.
Not like a baton or a stick
or the base of a flagpole,
the smell of onion sneaking
through waxed paper,
maybe a dollop of mayo leaking
out in flight made contact with a thud
of audacity, outrage. Why are you here?!
Why the f—k are you here?!
The sandwich maker who cut the bread,
arranged condiments, while the man (felon?)
waited by the counter, had no idea.
Maybe he felt the weight of anger,
spread yellow mustard thick,
added extra pepper,
a wedge of heavy cheddar,
imagined his throwing arm gathering
a day’s worth of ham and cheese
he could sail over the heads of invaders
to reach those starving children
on the other side of insanity.

Pamela Kenley-Meschino is originally from the UK, where she developed a love of nature, poetry, and music, thanks in part to the influence of her Irish mother. She is an educator whose classes explore the connection between writing and healing and the importance of shared stories.

SHE KNOWS HOW TO MAKE A U-TURN

by Beth Fox

Photo by Kevin Bermingham at Dreamstime.

She’s black, she’s white—
she’s a white-throated swift
moving so quickly I barely see
the male on her back as 
she barrels toward earth
in a courtship spin—
swerving at the point 
of impact, then 
hurtling upward 
again to become 
a speck in the sky.
(Black and white,
           dark and light—)
The nest—
a cup of moss and twigs
glued to the side of a sheer cliff
with saliva.
 
(I was once convinced
    that dark news 
          was really light—)
Fifty trips a day to care for chicks, 
feeding them balls of insects… instincts
as true as their flight.
 
Before dark times, I could tell
black from white… I will again, when
I can see through these reddened eyes…
    Will I/will we turn back in time   
          to see
     the brilliant blue sky?


A lover of the outdoors, Beth Fox was a finalist in four New England poetry contests and is widely published in New England. She helped seniors publish their work in an anthology, Other Voices, Other Lives. Her chapbook Reaching for the Nightingale is available at Finishing Line Press. Beth lives in Wolfeboro, NH.

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).

NO, TWILIGHT AND THE LAW

by Carol Dorf

The House voted on Thursday to pass a GOP-led bill that would ban transgender athletes from women’s and girls’ sports at federally funded schools and educational institutions. The bill is not expected to be taken up by the Democratic-controlled Senate and the White House has issued a veto threat. But the vote shows that Republicans are working to spotlight the issue – and it comes amid a GOP-led push in states across the country to pass similar bills restricting transgender athletes’ participation in sports. The final vote was 219-203 down strict party lines. —CNN, April 20, 2023. Photo: People attend a rally as part of a Transgender Day of Visibility on March 31 in Washington, DC. Credit: Jacquelyn Martin/AP

I tell my child
No, twilight is a given
I can’t slow the day’s passage to night
In the photo of the boardwalk through the swamp 
I support my child
as they lean back to look up at the trees
in a inversion of flight
For a while we called
it the Rumplestilskin phase
toddler jumping up and down in fury
Luckily the old oak floor held solid
There are so many things
about the world I would change for you if I could
though I wouldn’t do anything about the dogs
in costumes participating in the Pride Parade
And then—You travelled to the Pride Parade
wearing wings—with friends who also found
wings to celebrate and now you are all flown
All these laws that are disrupting
your flight path—Not in my backyard
but I’ll do my best

Carol Dorf is a Zoeglossia fellow, whose poetry has been published in three chapbooks. Her poetry has also appeared in previous issues of The New Verse News as well as in About Place, Cutthroat, Wordpeace, Unlikely Stories, Slipstream, The Mom Egg, Sin Fronteras, The Journal of Humanistic Mathematics, Scientific American, and Maintenant. She is founding poetry editor of Talking Writing.

AND THEN THE SKY

by Katherine West 

The U.S. Air Force released a much-anticipated draft environmental impact statement for its proposal to modify the boundaries for military air space over southwest New Mexico, including areas that would be used for F-16 training missions out of Holloman Air Force Base over Grant County and the Gila National Forest. … One of the alternatives proposes that low-altitude training — meaning F-16s flying as low as 500 feet above ground level — be allowed over those areas. —Silver City Daily Press, November 1, 2019

Ground level, nothing
enters the wilderness, except feet—
horse feet, human feet. We start
at the river and work our way up
and through how many worlds?
From yellow willows through pink mini-canyons
through tawny and scarlet grasslands made by
fire and decorated with skeletons
to foot-tingling vertigo cliffs dropping
from white heights straight down to
vertical death straight out to horizontal
eye-flight—180 degrees of mountain waves
lapping at the sky.

And just like being lost at sea, I can feel
the lack of humanity. My human
radar finds nothing to ping against, no
roofs glinting in the sun, no
distant roar of traffic, or guns,
just the last of the falling leaves ticking
against each other like light rain on the roof,
catching the late sun like a flock of distant
birds at five o'clock.

Behind me, the pale half-moon rises silently
in the afternoon east—and I remember
how she rose with Venus on Halloween
when the first cold came and
made them very  bright—still brighter
than the new, too-fast moving, human
Stars that surround them—and I remember
that there is no wilderness in the sky
as the F16s detonate their weekly flight.

Katherine West lives near the Gila Wilderness, several hours from Silver City, New Mexico, where she and her musician husband perform music with poetry about the true meaning of wilderness.  

ANY ALLIGATOR

by Daniel Bosch

Police managed to whisk a 2-foot-long alligator into a box after a traveler spotted it under an escalator at O’Hare International Airport. -- Chicago Tribune, November 4, 2013 (Image source: Chicago Herpetological Society)

Any Alligator
In a state

Of nature
Will say “Fresh”

When he means
“Future,” will

Favor carrion’s
Flavors, stow

Prey away
In an under-

Water cache,
A murky keep

Where steeps
His three or


Four months’
Hoard of dis-

Gorged flesh.
The sound

Byte for all
He catches is

“See you later.”
He’s no flight

Risk, he’ll fight
And die

Right there for
What’s in store.

But in O’Hare,
Where scale-

Pelted carry-ons
Mock him,

Where deeply
Impressed dead

Kin parade
As O.T.K.

Boots, where
Reptile-backed

Black belts
Train in heavy-

Duty grey
Tupperware,

Some T.S.A.
Agents looking

On, some
Looking in,

In O’Hare,
It’s no wonder

Any Alligator
Fresh out

From under
An up-bound

Escalator
Might confuse

An interrogator
Saying “Terror”

For “Terra” or
“Hate” for “Hide.”


Daniel Bosch is Senior Editor @ www.berfrois.com .