Piggish by Robert Shapard
I was a piggish child, thin and small. I wore glasses and would eat anything—it was my way of knowing the world. I ate mold, weeds, shoe polish, and fish food. I tasted shit.
I Begin to Recognize my Lost Loves on TV at 3 a.m. by Doug Cornett
On channel 232, a group of panty-hose-faced robbers shout orders in the airy lobby of a bank, waving their guns in front of them like majorettes.
It’s Not There by Lou Beach
“It’s not there.”
“What’s not there?”
“I’m not sure.”
Our Daughter by Wendy Oleson
Ever wish we’d picked another? You whisper at Mary’s party. Our daughter spits on her candles, dives into an ice cream cake with both fists.
When Gorillas Sleep by Frankie McMillan
I never touched the gorilla, I say. I got better things to do.