He practices techniques to ignore, explain, reconcile his daily affronts, fact that whole life is founded atop the graves, upon the backs of others, he was baptized in sweat and blood squeezed from countless invisible turnips, a rainbow of tones, oceans away. Likes to call it affirmations, being grateful, employing positive thinking…

tank on low
the bird pauses, gorges itself
to get back aloft

Jerome Berglund

The doctor prescribes a stimulant. His patient rampages. A sedative is then tried. The sufferer falls asleep at his wheel, causes a thirty car pileup. Injured casualties become addicted to obligatory pain meditations, when scripts expire switch to available street equivalents, take up lives of vice, careers in crime to treat the agonizing pains and debilitating withdrawal symptoms resulting from attempts to curb their intake, wean themselves clear. Their pill pushers, sanctioned and unofficial, compare notes at different lodges among orgiastic bacchanals, waited on hand and foot by trafficked courtesans, many of whom they recognize as past or present patients and consumers. They exploit their acquaintance, take advantage of positions to chisel them a bit more; knowledge of desperate neediness provides a phenomenal means of haggling rates down until they become quite competitive.

cannibals
cook month’s worth, seal in tupperwares
family-style meal prep

Jerome Berglund

Blood, blood, blood. I have it. You want it. I don’t want to give it. Buddhist. Buddhist. Buddhist. Not Buddhist. It’s only three millimeters, three milligrams, and one proboscis, but there is so much more to fear. It won’t kill me, but what it passes on might: malaria, dengue, West Nile, Zika, seven hundred fifty thousand viral deaths a year. Too late. There’s the sting. I’ve been had by the world’s deadliest animal – again.

a buzz inside
some thoughts won’t go away
itching and scratching

John Paul Caponigro

Halo wakes me, curled up against the base of my spine; my dog is dreaming, and his twitching wakes my dreaming wife, who shifts, waking him, and no one remembers the dream that was having them. We all return to dreaming: she’s making love to her wife; he’s packing dresses for our trip to Paris; I’m chasing squirrels.

awake and dreaming
the inside gets up
and walks outside

John Paul Caponigro

Long ago, mountains of snow bury the house. Inside it is so dark. The kitchen light
is always on. He is inside a spaceship, sometimes inside a submarine.
Now he is a groundhog. The window in the upstairs hallway is the new front door.
He climbs out onto the roof, shades his eyes from the glare.

enough snow
for an army of snowmen
not enough coal

Dorothy Mahoney

I walk alone in the 9-to-5 crowd through Foley Square, where the courthouses are clustered. I glance at the inscription above the entrance to the New York State Supreme Court building: “The true administration of justice is the firmest pillar of good government.”

“A feel-good Hallmark quote,” I murmur to myself. Just up the block, in a courtroom on the fifteenth floor of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse, the value of this inscription is about to be put to the test.

Alone in my office cubicle, editing and writing, I’m anxious all morning, as if walking through a maze blindfolded. I know there is a way out, but the twists, turns, and obstacles leave me feeling overwhelmed. All of a sudden, I hear one ring tone after another from other cubicles, then my ring tone comes, sounding loud … and louder. No one says anything until the end of our longest work day ever.

unconditional discharge …
I walk with winter gales
into the gathering dark

sleepless again …
I count Trump’s crimes backwards
into oblivion

Chen-ou Liu

There is a lightness to the wind today. It tips small branches and tilts their leaves. Insects don’t seem troubled by the gentle nudges. They know that somewhere, beyond the off-white miasma of tempered cloud, lies a blue sky.

sun trap –
a butterfly bathing
in warmth and silence

In an act of curiosity, I open windows. Offer the invisible guest a chance to explore my living room. It creeps in, gently lifting a curtain. Yet, once inside its manner changes, from cat to kitten. It races around. Rattles spider’s webs in all the high corners. Drags dust bunnies from beneath heavy armchairs.

dandelion clock
the time it takes to become
another sundial

Once the guest has their bearings, attention turns to the host. It works its way over every exposed surface, gently tweaking each hair it encounters. This close inspection might be an assessment. Or simply an invitation to join it outside.

crossword clue
the tickle of an answer
dancing out of reach

In its wake, an entourage arrives. A neighbour’s house alarm blares. Their small dog has bumped the window, while trying to chase a passing jogger. A bumblebee, the size of a wren, blunders in. Like the neighbour’s dog, they can’t find a way out. Then, a small boy, near breaking point, tips over the edge as their mother fails to concede on a crucial point of universal human rights.

careless gear change –
the learner’s frozen panic
as their engine squeals

Two was company, but now I’ve had enough. I usher the bee back to its point of ingress and firmly seal all windows. The harsh house alarm diminishes. Perhaps a UN representative has been called to mediate on behalf of the child. Their wailing becomes steadily less passionate, before stuttering to a stop.

a shaded body
gently rises and falls
the cat’s silent breath

David J Kelly

Don’t worry. The coffee shop aisle is full of noises sounds and sweet airs of fresh baked buns that give delight and hurt not all the sleek-haired wheelie-luggaged latte- limbered students filled to the brim with excitement for a contest of the dance

polished pavements
a huge low sun
spills out the lights

Diana Webb