WARNING TO THE POET

         by Louis Faber

He says that when you read

in front of an audience

you really have to sell the poem.

I'm sorry, but my poems are

not used cars parked in a lot

although, on reflection, there are

similarities to be sure.

Neither comes with a warranty

and what you see is what you get.

Each as more than a few

recycled parts, and it has

been said of my writing

that I could use a periodic tune up.

But that is only true

of certain poems, not this one.

This poem is like the copper

coated tin Jell-O mold

in the shape of a lobster that

hung in the kitchen when

I was a child, intended for an aspic

perhaps, but in our house, consigned

to strawberry Jell-O when my mother

was certain no one would

be dropping by for a visit.

Anyone want to buy

a 1993 Malibu?

Bio: Louis Faber’s work has appeared in The MacGuffin, Cantos, The Poet (U.K.), Alchemy Spoon (U.K), Dreich (Scotland), Prosetrics, Passager, Atlanta Review,  Glimpse, Rattle, Pearl, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review, among others, and was twice nominated for both The  Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.

SIGNS

        by Bob Hoffman

Pop once told me that 

while waiting to hear 

an answer to prayer he

finally grew weary of waiting, 

closed his eyes,

opened his Bible randomly, 

and put a finger on a verse.

And my coworker said that 

when she was struggling with 

whether to accept a marriage 

proposal, that she asked for 

a sign in the sky, and when

she didn’t get one, she took

that as a yes.

My friend Vern

used to cast lots

to help determine

his destination

for daily sales calls.

And next door neighbor Brian

swears by tea leaves

and the I Ching,

while another neighbor 

sees an astrologer

once a month.

But who can blame them?

we all need a little guidance

once in a while.

But enough of that.

which of these

avocadoes

should I 

buy?

Bio: Bob Hoffman looks for birds, dabbles in gardening, and writes poetry and fiction. He is the author of the novel, The Pearly Everlasting. 

AT THE FISH MARKET

       by Jeffrey Zable

 

Pointing to the tank, my wife says to the fishmonger

in the white apron, “Please give me one of those tilapias.”

 

Net in hand, he goes over to the tank, dips it inside and easily

catches one of them.

 

Seeing the fish squirming in the net immediately makes me feel sad,

as I reflect, “A minute ago he was swimming around with those

of his kind, unaware of what was ultimately in store for him.”

 

Going over to a wooden table, he takes the fish out,

holds him down, and conks him on the head with a hammer.

 

As the fish is now completely still, I look over at my wife

who has a blank expression on her face.

 

With a blank expression on his own face, the fishmonger

puts the tilapia in a plastic bag, weighs him, sticks a price

on the bag and then hands it to my wife.

 

Putting the bag into the cart that has a few other items,

she says to me, “Do you want anything here?”

 

To which I respond, “No… I think I‘ll just have a salad tonight.”

 

“Okay,” she replies. And before we leave I take a quick look

at the tanks— wondering how many will finish off their lives

before the end of the day…

 

Bio: Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga drummer/percussionist who plays for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area, and a writer of poetry, flash-fiction and non-fiction. He's published five chapbooks and his writing has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies, more recently in  Uppagus, Misfit, Streetcake, Ivo, Corvus, Dark Winter, The Ravens Perch, Rundelania, Moss Piglet and many others. His selected poetry, "When I'm Dead and Felling Blue" is now available from Amazon or directly from Androgyne Books.