Poem by Ian Ganassi

 

Hazy on the Details

When is it time
To spin a new bottle?

Every time I approach an inn,
There’s suddenly no room.

Were you raised in a barn?

The downer horses
Make good glue.

Just over the hill,
They learned how shaggy it can get.

The working-class side of the hill,

Where the Kowalskis are.

And in the elevator
The woman with the hole in her throat
Coughing up bloody phlegm—

And still she smokes.

In the elevator
I felt like getting sick.
Luckily, I was only going to the third floor.

[Insert apotropaic formulae here.]

So many bells
There’s no telling
Where they’re coming from.

It’s how I know it’s Sunday.

Oh, give me back
My sieve. And my wig.
Especially the wig.

And the sirens should shut up.
As should the gulls.

 

Ian Ganassi’s work has appeared recently or will appear soon in numerous literary magazines, such as New American Writing; BlazeVox; First Literary Review-East; Clockwise Cat, and The Yale Review, among many others. His poetry collection Mean Numbers was published in 2016. His new collection, True for the Moment, is forthcoming from MadHat Press.

 

Luis Lázaro Tijerina was born in Salina, Kansas. Mr. Tijerina has a Master of Art degree in history, concentration being military history and diplomacy. He is a published author of military theory, short stories, essays and poetry. Mr. Tijerina resides in Vermont.

 

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