Shelling a nuclear plant is never a good idea.

Zaporizhzhia—
now you see us
now you don’t

Stella Pierides

My twin brother was absorbed into my all female left eyeball in the womb, leaving me with a lazy eye and urges to look up little girl’s skirts, unsuccessfully.

handicapped button
the three blind mice
write their memoirs

Pris Campbell

AKA a souped-up spaghetti hoop.

dog moon
the last bus
gone

Helen Buckingham

Sagittarius A* offers to make me spaghetti . . .

balls and chain male

Helen Buckingham

Change of season…  I finally meet my old group again: someone brings some beer while others bring their kids…

Andrea Cecon

Sister Julia found God in cooking, but she thought it would be funny if every recipe had a morel.

Sunday supper
praying the wild mushroom galette
isn’t poisonous

Bob Lucky

cloud-mottled sky
picking wilted lettuce
out of the salad

I take the 6718-word manuscript and start cutting, slashing with the precision of a Daoist butcher, until there’s nothing left but the title, which says it all. The End.

Bob Lucky

At it again, dishing out apple pies. White lies for extra crust. Common man gets the hunch, turns into a comma, the never-ending pause, period. Amidst dwindling tallies …

election flyer
street kid folds
a paper bird

Daya Bhat

All the miles dotted with volcanoes raised by monosyllables. The last thing I would need on a long-haul flight is one less wing.

at the shore
sandcastles of
all lost one minutes

Daya Bhat