amphibi.us

i only found one picture
of the night
we all crammed in the bedroom

(to sit in a circle on the floor
while the last seconds of the year
ticked away,

and made noise with whatever
we could find;

singing at the top of our lungs
so we wouldn’t have to hear

ourselves think,

or make wishes
we knew couldn’t come true)

and i’m not even in it!

it’s you,

sitting against the bookshelf
and laughing,

at the reason why
you only have one shoe on,

and how of all the moments
to take a picture, this was it.

© Andrew Chmielowiec, 2012

[others]

when we left the bar
everyone had vanished

it was only
7

it was like god
had taken
everyone but us

the sun
should have
been out
but it was
dark like
midnight

and as we
drove back
to that small
space
we had
wrestled
from the
world—

the space
where we
fought
dreamt
and
fucked,

we stopped
at all the right
traffic lights
even though

there was
no one
there
to
notice

© Bill Winchester, 2012

Chinese Laundry, Chicago

In a storefront laundry
on North Clark Street
brown draperies release
this quiet man

who has my shirts.
He smiles and bows–
how carefully
he wraps them.

Before the draperies
fall back, I see,
for a moment,
in a circle swirling

almost out of sight
three kerchiefed women,
glistening black,
bending, grabbing, sorting.

© Donal Mahoney, 2012

[others]

life expectancy is low
and the depression is always on.
A few blocks over,
on easy street,
it is common knowledge
that under the bridge
humans live like dogs,
digging holes in the side
of the levee to stay warm,
while, every now and then,
being tossed a sop
by the occasional wayward tourist,
race-walking,
like a frightened duck,
to get safely by.

the only news is
the weather report,
delivered daily, without mercy,
to slow moving creatures,
with brains
like rickety houses,
continuously rattled by
eighteen wheelers passing overhead,
and with faces,
like weather-beaten gargoyles,
emitting plumes of steam
through their crusty portals
all winter long,
with no relief in sight,
and no plan,
except to wait
for the sprouting of the leaves,
bringing on the heat and the stench.

© Barry W, North, 2012

I know she’s arrived when the buzzer
warns me
to wait as she comes
up the stairs

I tell her I’ve just
ran the vacuum
so she takes off her shoes
and her toenails
are painted
deep red

I point to the sofa
a dirty old thing
used to skin and sweat but
I’ve turned the pillows and
we sit like royals
side by side

She tells me to get her some wine
but I haven’t any, not even bad one
so I make
her tea and
we sit
in silence
until the sound of my neighbor coming
stops flitting
through the floorboards

© Anton Gourman, 2012

[others]