Poem of the Month
Insurance Claim

By Mark Callanan

Published on May 1, 2012

Here’s how it panned out:
the stick of dynamite,
thrown on the pond
to break up ice for trout

was snapped up
by that poor mutt,
remembering git, boy, git
and the swift kick

that came with disobedience.
So they lost their shit
and started shooting,
anything to ward him off.

And he, stick in his gob
like a giant cuban—stupid
fuck—crouched under cover
of their brand new truck.

More Poetry

Shape

My ex keeps asking do I want the cat back,
but my place is a wall short
and where pray tell to put the litter box?

Unsigned City

I detail the verbal exchanges with the affronted voyager on distant terraces, each equivalent in the space of the citation. Attempt in the morning: the magnolia garden inspecting its blue lack. Through the telescope, beautiful women make jewellery and dissolve in water.

Salter Street Strike

One with the strength of many
alone in the distant North End.
People before profit.

it’s a seemingly endless descent.
Marlyn’s streets do not resemble
one with the strength of many

morbid singularities
entirely unaware of
people before profit