Charles, I have an uncle
with your name
and he’s not doing
well I hear
he should have died
years ago but hasn’t
found the barn
to milk himself dry in—
I guess when your heart stops
Charles, milking yourself
doesn’t compare to the
itching and the want
to stop by the wild kale
and think of your wife
who’s so ill-tempered
she’s locked you out
for becoming a stranger
and hates dogs
and buys a dog
from a man and then
is terrified because there is
a dog in her house. Charles
my uncle who’s dying
wrote poems. He reared
cows and chickens on
land that he worked for
like his wife made chicken
& dumplings celebrated
county-wide and he could
shoulder a tree on—
this is what he was
like Charles        now
he’s locked out
of his heart
and caring more
for each breath
like a line
cut to divide
his property.
It’s no human
history Charles
but it’s a man’s
wife that wrings
the chicken’s neck
a cow you can call
home a chimera
of a dog. You
remember, Charles,
a dog?

        --William Sanders

Nora Almeida: Integral #1 Integral #2 Integral #3
Richard Pearse: A Woman Cloud Young and Angry at the Moon
Olga Pester: the roof of merger refrigerator memo
Joe Robitaille: Oleo Strut Oligarchy Strychnine The Rest of Lamps
William Sanders: Easter Poem [another poem by W. Sanders (& another)]
Sarah Sarai: hAve You Been Married, the Sister asK
Pietro Scorsone: After Tomorrow Random 1-4