Three amazing Poets grace our latest offering: Dana Crum, Yolanda Isabel Regueira Marin and Mariska Araba Taylor-Darko
With each bite of Halibut Duglere, I see
whores in El Salvador, bandits in Bangladesh;
I see a boy in Cité Soleil, squatting
in an aluminum shack. Made of dried
yellow dirt from Hinche, baked
on the brutal roof of Fort Dimanche,
cookies suck all moisture from his mouth
and puff his gut with lies. What the gut
believes the tongue denies.
What will I do? Dump my 401(k)
in the World Food Programme chest? Move
to Port-au-Prince, hand out rice sacks?
I’ll finish this fish and go feed my cat.
The First Eurasian Water War:
The Battle of London, 2031
Water promises to be to the 21st century
what oil was to the 20th.
Behind us, our Georgian
an orange-crayon sketch
on black paper. Ahead,
below an El Greco sky,
infant hills crouched
where the Gherkin and St. Paul’s
once stood. A molten
MacScreen 4 in one hand,
my daughter’s blackened
fingers in the other,
I tramped beside her
across the flattened city.
its breath rank, visible.
Doors without buildings. Squares
no longer square.
As vampire jets flayed
and staked Westminster,
a groan high in the air.
In smashed hat
with cracked face
Big Ben reeled—
’til his spine
snapped. Then he fell.