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

The Major Verbs

The major verbs beset us in the midst of a static summer:

Dead Raccoon on the Highway

I sit next to him on a park bench on a cool summer day. His smile is beautiful. He tells me I am gorgeous. I take ...

AIDS Ward

This is the bed, empty again, next to the man dying. This is the strap that ties down the man that lies next to the empty bed.