DEPORTATION RECRUITMENT AMERICAN STYLE

by Mickey J. Corrigan

Isn't it time for you
to help America
reverse cultural decline?

Hey Ho ICE Must Go
to the farms to pick
up the fieldworkers!

Give us a urine sample
give us an interview
get two thumbs up
if you clean and mean.

Hey Ho ICE Must Go
out to Home Depots
to grab working invaders!

Get you a medical screen
pass our fitness test
the background check
and cover your face.

Hey Ho ICE Must Go
to immigration courts
for the law abiders!

A stint at ICE Academy
(it don't last long
they cut the weeks
by more than half)
strap on your firearm!

Hey Ho ICE Must Go
into the streets
to look for foreigners!

You don't need Spanish
vehicle pursuit training
education or skills
you don't need much
just the choice to join
our band of masked thugs.

Hey Ho ICE Ready to Go
show the whole world
what America stand for
kidnap some baby moms
crying kids, working folk
off to the secret camps
to god knows what-all
in El Salvador, Africa. 

Ready, young patriot
to reverse cultural decline?
So sign up now
for that 50K bonus
be America First
and kick alien ass!

Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan hides out in the lush ruins of South Florida. She writes pulp fiction, literary crime, and psychological thrillers. Her poems have appeared in literary journals and chapbooks. A collection of biographical poems on twentieth century poets is in press with Clare Songbirds Publishing.

BRUSH WITH BRAVERY FROM 4,500 MILES

by Becky DeVito

“Walk Through Claude’s Gardens” by Tatyana Pchelnikova.
Tatyana Pchelnikova’s website of original art.
Tatyana Pchelnikova at Made for Bravery.
Tatyana Pchelnikova on Instagram.

I’m on my second of four cups of gunpowder 

green tea and here’s a tweet from Zelenskyy: 

now there’s Made With Bravery, an online shop 

where anyone with a Visa card 

can make a miniscule contribution to the war. 

I don’t like to brag but if online shopping 

were a competitive sport I could medal 

in the cool stuff at a good price event, so let’s get to it: 

vyshyvanka shirts—I could wear one of those. 

Such a flattering cut, but the stitching sprouts all over. 

Look at this men’s vyshyvanka. Simplicity 

is elegance, right? No one to buy it for 

but why should that stop me? The sleeves 

would be too long and perhaps they’d snicker 

at my cross-dressing. I don’t think I’d care 

much about that but then there are folks 

who would think culturally illiterate

and so many already think that goes with American

so I can’t buy one of those. T-shirts are okay but 

I can’t wear yellow near my face and hey—

there’s an art category and that’s perfect. 

I won’t have to worry about the size, but the shipping! 

And international—better not think about it 

or I’ll never get to the finish line. 

 

That abstract painting with every shade 

of pink and green and all those textures…

which I can always return to later. Scroll down to a riot 

of flowers. I mean, a peaceful demonstration. 

That word is used inappropriately so often. Crowded, 

standing together. Reds and yellows and purples shout 

over each other, but they have something substantial to say.

About joy, or the need to let all your color catapult 

you into the next dimension and whatever shape that takes, 

I could use reminding. Click and it’s Walk 

Through Claude’s Gardens, and I believe it. 

Those petals curl right off the canvas the oil is so thick 

and wait, this is an oil painting, not a print? 

I’ve never owned an oil painting. Maybe I can afford it—

yes, $247 is something I can do, especially for an original.

How big is 50*50 cm, anyway? Another tab to convert 

centimeters to inches, 20x20, that’s a nice size 

and I definitely love it. Have to have it. 

 

Put in my address: why can’t Chrome translate 

the countries in the dropdown list? I’ve seen США 

so many times in the tweets but it would be a shame 

if it got sent to the wrong country. 

Google Translate says I was right 

and I’d better be, after 6 ½ months 

of keeping up with this war 

that was supposedly never again, 

and why won’t they let me specify my state? 

I guess it could arrive with only the zip. I want it. 

I put in my Visa number and the next screen 

isn’t in dollars anymore but UAH. 

 

Whoa, that’s a lot of digits 

so another tab for a currency converter 

and yes it’s right so I press Pay and it says 

I still need to make the payment for my order. 

At least they’re recognizing I have an order. 

I call the number on the back of the card 

and plug my other ear to hear the voice from India 

say nothing was declined, nothing was purchased 

today and they would know even if it was a minute ago 

so I have to solve it through the site. I email 

and ask if someone could have bought it 

during the cup of tea between when I started 

putting in my address and when I pressed Pay 

and so could I commission a similar one 

and I’d better get this taken care of soon 

because if she sells her entire stock on the first day 

it won’t be long before they’re four times the price. 

Good for her, but I’ll be shut out 

and there are so few occasions to join 

this awful war from 4,500 miles away 

and it’s not in my cart so I really hope 

it’s being saved in cyberspace  

while the customer service people wade 

through the backlog including three emails 

from me and that painting would 

fill the beige void I get sucked into 

for every virtual meeting 

much better than this starting-to-get-long 

black-and-white poem. 

 

By now they’re all struggling to sleep 

through air raid sirens because the Russian army 

thinks they’re making gains when they lob 

their missiles at apartment buildings, but those HIMARS 

we sent have been really good at shooting 

rockets out of the sky so maybe none will land near her 

tonight and Kyiv is 7 hours ahead of Connecticut 

so I hope when I wake 

there will be more than the automatic reply from Bravery 

waiting for me here in my inbox. Hold on—

how did this fraud alert slip in? 

Yes, I recognize that purchase. 

Why did it take eight hours 

when the lady from the credit card company 

said it would have shown up instantly? 

 

Thank God I left the tab open 

after I kept telling it to Pay 

because I can’t find the painting on the site 

anymore but they’re still trying to fingerprint my browser

from hours before so I reload and press Pay 

and it doesn’t work the first time but 

reload that sucker again and 

Wahoo! I’m the new owner of actual art 

and look I got it done before midnight 

and wow she must have been just as frazzled 

because it’s only 6:46 am there 

and here’s the shipping label, all ready to go. 

Tatyana Pchelnikova, you’re amazing. 

I subscribed for updates because I have another 

empty wall and you’ll be my go-to artist 

even after the invaders 

have had enough of their genocidal nonsense. 

 

Becky DeVito is pleased to report subsequent purchases at Made With Bravery have gone much more smoothly, including the names of countries appearing in English in the dropdown list. Becky DeVito has used poetry as a means of working her way through trauma. Her experiences writing poetry led her to investigate the ways in which poets come to new insights through the process of drafting and revising their poems for her doctoral dissertation. She is a professor of psychology at the Capital campus of CT State Community College in Hartford, Connecticut. Her poems have been published in The Ekphrastic Review, Frogpond, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Naugatuck River Review, Ribbons: Tanka Society of America Journal, and others. Join her on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram. 

HOW NORMAL LIFE IS IN KHERSON!

by Bonnie Naradzay

Russian soldiers have shot dead a Ukrainian musician in his home after he refused to take part in a concert in occupied Kherson, according to the culture ministry in Kyiv. Conductor Yuriy Kerpatenko declined to take part in a concert “intended by the occupiers to demonstrate the so-called ‘improvement of peaceful life’ in Kherson”, the ministry said in a statement on its Facebook page. The concert on 1 October was intended to feature the Gileya chamber orchestra, of which Kerpatenko was the principal conductor, but he “categorically refused to cooperate with the occupants”, the statement said. —The Guardian, October 16, 2022

How normal life is in Kherson, 

ruled by Russian invaders since April!

A life of repression, kidnapping,

and mass detainment of its citizens.

How normal life is in Kherson!

with Russian invaders planning

a concert for the first of October

to show how normal life is in Kherson 

while deporting everyone to unknown 

locations from Kherson because

this is how normal life is in Kherson.  

The conductor for the concert, 

that the Russian invaders insisted on,

to show how normal and calm it was,

Yurii Kerpatenko, declined to take part .

So in true Soviet tradition the invaders

went to his home and murdered him, 

to prove how normal life is in Kherson.

Bonnie Naradzay’s poems are scheduled for publication in Crab Creek Review, Dappled Things, and The Birmingham Poetry Review, and appear in AGNI, New Letters (Pushcart Nomination), RHINO, Kenyon Review online, Tampa Review, Florida Review online, EPOCH, Pinch (Pushcart Nomination), American Journal of Poetry, Potomac Review, The Poetry Miscellany, and other places, and her essay on friendship was published recently in the anthology Deep Beauty. She leads weekly poetry sessions in day shelters for the homeless and at a retirement center.

THE BISON, THE PASSENGER PIGEONS, THE FORESTS WARN THE PEOPLE OF UKRAINE

by Cecil Morris

They think these invaders cannot kill us all, will not,

if we stand together, shoulder to shoulder, in ranks

like sunflowers or stalks of corn, benign and unarmed.

They think these invaders will see we are good people.

We know better and would tell them but they don’t listen,

or, if they do listen, they do not comprehend

the languages of destruction, forget the beige

indifference of words and how they camouflage

a red intent. They forget, on both sides, the quiet way

surprise waits in them and their sad myopia.

Still we do try to tell them true. We send the breeze

of our ghost wings over them, the distant rumble

of our ghost hooves spooked across plain and steppe, the sound

of our falling, a whole forest of calamity

that echos around them and they don’t hear. We try.

We try to tell them: no boundaries in the hearts,

the minds of men, no lines limit devastation.

If they don’t want to end up like us, they must run.

Cecil Morris lives in Roseville, California, where he taught high school English for 37 years. In his retirement, he has turned his attention to writing what he once taught students to understand and (maybe) enjoy. He has poems appearing in Cobalt Review, English Journal, Evening Street Review, Hiram Review, Hole in the Head Review, Midwest Quarterly, Poem, Talking River Review, and other literary magazines. He likes ice cream too much and cruciferous vegetables too little for his own good.

SPRING BREAK

by Mickey J. Corrigan

Spring Break ramps up on Fort Lauderdale beach and bars nearby. (Mike Stocker / South Florida Sun Sentinel)

They amass like mosquitoes

seasonal, thirsty

buzzing full throated

drinking from the trough

dancing bikini bar to bar

singing across hot sand

under bright sun freedom

in the Ponzi State

Where cities are whitewashed

spiritually unclaimed, soulless

coyotes nosing full garbage cans

their woods stripped bare for 

asphalt streets, pink plastic

body parts and towers 

on Styrofoam foundations

eroding narrowed beaches

while out in the rurals

abandoned washers, rusty 

cars, no jobs, lots of guns

red banners to the past

This is the place 

to party-hardy

for frontier values

fierce individualism

reduced taxes, no rules

endless cycles of consumption

just build, build and burn 

When the invaders conquered

the Natives warned them

of the inevitable loss:

the nose of the deer

will fall off... 

and that's Florida

the Underwater State

Where everyone is welcome

to the final season 

the grand finale

the greatest sunset

in American history.

Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan writes tropical noir with a dark humor. Novels include Project XX about a school shooting (Salt Publishing, UK, 2017) and What I Did for Love, a spoof of Lolita (Bloodhound Books, UK, 2019). In 2020, Grandma Moses Press released the poetry micro-chapbook Florida Man. The Physics of Grief puts the fun back in funerals while taking a serious look at the process of mourning (QuoScript, UK, April 2021).