THREE YEARS SINCE JANUARY 6TH

by David Feela

Traitor Trump is a drawing by Mike Scott which was uploaded to Fine Art America on December 8th, 2022.

the rhetoric simmers
the threats rise like steam
the traitor still leading the charge
the office in florida a command post
the golf course his bunker
the tower branded by his babel 
the lies
the three years burning like acid reflux in democracy’s gut
the smell of pepper spray in everything he says
the mass deportation of his conscience  
the rumor he doesn’t have one
the constitutional disdain he swears to protect
the lies
the charisma he carries like a infected boil
the rule of law that doesn’t apply to him
the courtroom where he sits and glares
the indictments and mug shot 
the lies
the money he grifts 
the pussy he’s entitled to grab
the election he never won
the lies
the reelection he continues to rig 
the bible raised as a prop
the lies
the comb over that covers his heart

David Feela writes monthly columns for The Four Corners Free Press and The Durango Telegraph. Unsolicited Press released his latest chapbook Little Acres.

SCHOOL DOORS

by Alejandro Escudé

Doors are important in schools.

That’s why when you’re a teacher

they give you lots of keys, keys

that you then have to return when 

you leave for summer break, which

is why leaving for summer break

feels so final, so like confronting

a kind of early retirement, or death.

It’s also why after twenty years

teaching English, I hate doors and

I hate keys, which feel so primitive

to me, those flecks of coded copper

that pinch your upper thigh, get stuck

in your sunglasses, become tangled

up within themselves and you have

to wrestle them free. Once, I lost

a whole set of school keys; I’d

stopped at a gas station and they

slipped out of my dress slacks.

I got home and reached into my

empty pockets, and I felt this

utter panic, my face turned cold.

I drove back and there they were 

beside the fuel pump, laying as if

waiting for me to swipe them.

I looked around and felt a welling

up of gratitude. Who could’ve

had access to this world of youth

that I was in charge of every day?

Who could’ve hurt them? I worked

at a school not long ago who often

left the back door to the gym open.

Mornings, I’d walk by and see

the door propped ajar, inviting 

anyone from off the street to come

inside, take anything they wished

from the locker rooms: gloves,

helmets, jerseys, pompoms, lives.

So I’m empathetic when I read 

about the school shooting, how  

a teacher left the door open. Then 

how it was shown she hadn’t, yet 

locked doors often refuse to stay

locked. Doors like remaining open,

they prefer to welcome others.

I’ve been around school doors

so long, I believe I can hear that 

thing screeching as the shooter 

yanked it back, the big rock 

the teacher had used to prop it 

against the grass, to one side.

And like that—nowhere to hide.

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.