by Clifford Fyman

The guy that drives me here to exit 4, 7:30 a.m.,
is on his way to work in a mill. “I leave
my brain in the car when I go in there,”
he says. It is a beautiful ride through
green Allegheny hills that has my mouth
watering over its juicy richness. We
are clocking 85 miles per. “This car was
meant to drive fast,” he says, “fuck yeah!”
After everything that makes him
enthusiastic he says, “Fuck yeah!”
Agreeing with me on anything makes him
enthusiastic.
“Going to California? Sounds good,
sounds good. It does look like a nice day,
“fuck yeah!”

by Robert Hogg

The Lovers
for Mike MacLean & Jeanne Choquette

I sit in the kitchen under
the whirr of the ceiling
fan and write the sounds

of your voices in
the next room no
words I can discern

as you make love
first slowly then
urgently calling

each other’s name
quietly at first now
loudly yes yes

the love air open
though the door
between us

closed a safe room
provided
by your friend who

aches for
the wonderment
you share

for you are
more than two
in the next room

and I am
more than one
hearing you

in the kitchen
beyond
the wall

because I hear
your cries
not words

no the words
are mine
to make

out of care
or I might
say love

for you
breathing
a common air

though now
to breathe
is somewhat

painful
my lungs
too delicate

for air this
rich in
memory

by Robert Hogg

A Clear Communion
for Jenne Choquette

For less than love
we break
glass together

what contains us
that brittle

Light
sparks
Eyes
dance

Crystal

the liquid
clear as water
shimmers delight

For more than hurt
we mix
blood together

our veins
conceal
the rest

by George Bowering

She dresses
for success

but looks at me and
holds a gold tooth
to the light.

This she says
my grandfather
gave to me

if I would
sit on his knee again.