Long Distance Call by Matt Amott

He sits at the bar
having one too many 
and thinking about her.
Wondering 
if it's truly over,
he hears
Muddy Waters 
on the jukebox sing
"You say you love me, darling
please, call me on the phone sometime."

He grabs his cell
and starts to dial,
but then
he sees her walk in
on the arm 
of another man.
Pausing for a moment,
he hangs up the phone,
finishes his whiskey
and slides out 
the back
while Muddy sings
"There's another mule
kicking in your stall".

Matt Amott is a poet, musician and photographer who rambles around the Pacific Northwest. He is co-founder and co-editor of Six Ft. Swells Press and has been published in numerous collections as well as three books of his own, THE COAST IS CLEAR (Six Ft. Swells Press), GET WELL SOON and THE MEMORY OF HER (both by Epic Rites Press).  He can be reached at sixftswells@yahoo.com and purchases can be made at Amazon and www.sixftswellspress.com

Newborn by India LaPlace

It seems so wrong to call such an old soul

A newborn.

I mean, when she was born, 

She didn’t even cry, but I did. 

The heart in my chest felt too heavy

And so I sobbed like this birth was a death.

She was covered in blood and guts and gross

And I was covered in blood and guts and gross

And I thought that the lump

Of emotion, guilt and fear in my throat

Would choke me.

Newborn was first published in Sad Discoveries

India LaPlace is kind of like if a dive bar and a dumpster fire had a human baby. She is a poet from the United States and a single mom who is aspiring to be a person with self discipline. Associate Editor at the sensational Horror Sleaze Trash. Generally pleasant, naturally cynical. Easily won over by a good book and a twisted sense of humor. You can find her on Instagram: @indiabrittany

She still loves Louis C.K. 

junk mail by Ben Newell

I insert my key,

reach inside the box

and pull out a pornographic magazine.

 

This and a letter from the

St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital

asking for a donation.

 

I toss the letter into a trash bin

filled with junk mail

then walk back to my apt.

 

Kids with cancer

are a major downer—

 

But this photo

of a barely legal brunette

playing with her shaved beaver

helps me forget all about them. 

Ben Newell dropped out of the Bennington Writing Seminars during his first semester, eventually resuming his studies at Spalding University where he earned an MFA.  His first full-length collection of poetry, Fuzzball, was recently published by Epic Rites Press. 

https://www.amazon.com/Fuzzball-Ben-Newell/dp/1926860667/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=fuzzball&qid=1563733227&s=books&sr=1-2

DOG CHASING CAR by Colin James

Fatalism or Determinism?
Witness reliability is dependent on
the type of car and dog.
The dog ran like a Subaru
the car rode similar to a Boxer.
I felt more empathy for the car
always confined in a garage.
The dog had acquired some rust.
Turn those mirrors, that's an ear pointing.
If growled in a low guttural voice,
we may have a breakthrough or both.

Colin James has a couple of chapbooks of poetry published. Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writing Knights Press and A Thoroughness Not Deprived of Absurdity from Piski's Porch Press. He lives in Massachusetts.........

THEY CALLED HER SHITBAGS by J. Archer Avary

she was a 

giantess

towering over me at 

six feet three

maybe taller 

I was after her friend

Katie 

but Katie hooked up

with my friend 

Jonny

so the giantess and I

ended up 

together

sort of a consolation 

prize 

at a Vietnamese 

restaurant 

north of Dodge 

where we ate 

heads-on shrimp

she told me about the

car crash 

the multiple surgeries

the colostomy bag

she showed me her 

scars 

Nazca lines across

her midsection 

some punks from her 

school

taunted her

her name was Melissa

but they called her 

shitbags

I was too weak and 

fearful 

to stand up for her 

but I saw her

wince with 

inner pain

we sat on my front 

porch 

with a bathtub full of 

ice and beer 

drinking the night away 

she sat on my lap

and kissed me 

our combined weight 

broke the chair 

we tumbled to the floor

and went to bed

together

it was like climbing

an oak tree

without saying a

word 

we knew it was 

over

what an easy 

breakup

I dropped her off

at school 

the next morning 

and never saw

her again

years later I heard 

she was awarded a 

large 

cash settlement 

resulting from the 

car crash

the giantess is now 

a millionaire 

nobody 

calls her shitbags

anymore

J. Archer Avary (he/him) lives on a tiny island in the English Channel. His work has appeared in Rye Whiskey Review, The Daily Drunk, Mad Swirl, Rejection Letters, Ariel Chart, and other esteemed purveyors of poetry and short fiction. Twitter: @j_archer_avary

Let the Fools Be by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

I have been known to be too kind
to fools and their tedious advice.

I do not like arguing with fools
or giving them advice in return.
It gets old walking on eggshells 
and walking around them as well.
This may be my last time giving fools a chance who don’t know
better. In the future I will keep a
distance and let the fools be. They 
are often doling out advice on whims.
It is futile to make fools see beauty
in its simplest form. I will continue 
doing things my way without fools.

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, born in Mexico, lives in Southern California, and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press. His poetry online and in print has appeared in Ariel Chart, Blue Collar

Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, and Yellow Mama Magazine.

Ask Me Tomorrow by Terry Norton

Why are you still gazing upon the page?

I made it clear when to ask for my reply.

What, can you not read?
People are really dense these days.
Hey can you give me a lift to the store?
Figured you had nothing better to do.

Reading is fundamental and I'm just fractured in my logic.
I'd offer you a banana but it appears to have already split.

Terry Norton

Is a poet and distant cousin of someone you probably know.

He spends his time watering the lawn of somewhere he doesn't live anymore.

He has many bad habits.