NOT OVER

by Dion Farquhar 

I’m Omicron, son of Delta

I skipped generations

from four to fifteen

letters of the Greek alphabet

I’ve outrun Delta

gone after 200,000 more

surpassed a million  

despite decrees, desires

for the old normal

—that hell

for everyone (but the dead)

to get back to work

forget your boosters

travel bans and masks

after all this time 

you still don’t get what global means

you may be faster

smarter now

but after two and a half years

so am I

your rich country as backward

as the ones you’ve impoverished                                                                           

but you win again, America

tally the most dead

so dream on about “herd immunity” 

your unvaxed forty percent

still my gateway

and I’m here to stay

Dion Farquhar has recent poems in Non-Binary Review, Superpresent, Blind Field, Poesis, Cape Rock: Poetry, Poydras Review, Mortar, Local Nomad, Columbia Poetry Review, moria, Shifter,BlazeVOX, etc. Her third poetry book Don’t Bother is in press at Finishing Line Press, and she has three chapbooks. She works as an exploited adjunct at two universities, but still loves the classroom, and she is active in the University of California Santa Cruz adjunct union, the UC-AFT. 

ATROCIOUS NEWS

by Madlynn Haber

The story of atrocities screams out from the front page

until the end of the column of words. The story continues

on page five. In between, is the weather report. I stop

to follow the progress of early spring’s longer days,

full sunshine, warming temperatures. Delightful. Turning

pages, today’s atrocities pick up with images of rubble,

devastation, tears running down children’s pale faces.

A cartoon follows for our amusement, then notices

of upcoming fun, fairs, and festivals.

 

The word atrocity repeats until it is familiar, so

commonplace it almost loses its meaning.

It’s just another atrocity, one might say.

Red is the color of blood as it spills across

the globe from bodies whose skin tones reflect

a spectrum of hues from light to dark.

Today’s crumpled headlines continue screaming

with news as the paper is thrown on a pile going back

to the beginning of time.

Madlynn Haber lives with her dog, Ozzie, in a cohousing community in Northampton, Massachusetts. Her work has been published in the anthology Adult Children (Wishing Up Press, 2021), Random Sample, Borrowed Solace, Buddhist Poetry Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Poetica Magazine, and other journals.