spring 2017
Table of Contents
Return to Home Pagebox cars paper plates annie ross
Singing in Dark Times Bhaswati Ghosh
A Coke and a KitKat Spenser Smith
Red Sarongs Clementine Chelsea Comeau
Romeo, Romeo, WTF? P.C. Vandall
Constantly Looking, Admitting Nothing Paul Douglas McNeill II
from Electric Garden Amanda Earl
from Glossary of Musical Terms rob mclennan
First Loves in Brevoort Park Body Analysis Erin Hiebert
Dear Miss Parker Dear Mama Chelene Knight
We Could Have Called Him Joe, We Didn't Juliane Okot Bitek
Straight Waiting Sugar le Fae
Prayer For Our Past Selves Esther McPhee
Inside My House Gleaning Stones Onjana Yawnghwe
The Lady or the Tiger? Michelle Brooks
Aztlan Travels Emiliano Sepulveda
Straight Waiting
All the straight waiters at work
make it a point to touch me
once a shift at least, to treat me
to the same fraternal gestures:
the shoulder-hold, the fist-bump,
one of those inane handshakes
they dole out in high school
I still can’t seem to do.
Robert, the elder waiter, prefers
a gentle backslap. Dominic,
of “pure French Creole” stock,
backhands my bicep all shift,
chirpin’ “Ya heard me?”
Marquis, one of the bussers,
bulldozes my shoulder blades
with his forehead.
When I point out this straight
male propensity for physical
affection to Dinos, he says
“You’re just saying that
cuz you’re gay,” and he’s right;
that doesn’t make me wrong.