by Craig Cotter

Jerry Wu
hot in black boots,

jeans, muscle shirt —

Wan Min
good and aggressive
pushed me back
untied my shorts
& got busy.

I refuse to learn and life is a surprise.

By Craig Cotter

Stuart Sutcliffe’s mom
wrote John Lennon a letter in 1969.

“What does she want?” George asks?

With sympathy in his voice
John says, “Well,
what we all want,
money.”

The generations, though the rest of us are here,
belong to teenagers.

The 30 second peanut commercial
on TV
cost more to produce
than any book of poetry
in the United States.

On YouTube
you can watch Moe Howard
teach pie throwing
on The Mike Douglas Show.

The vocal interpretations
of Mike Douglas
were painful to my
10–year–old ears.

When I heard Paul McCartney sing
as a kid
I thought he was a black woman.

By Claire Scott

I am repelled
by rats. Loathsome long–tailed
repulsive rodents that carry contagion,
chew wires and chomp wood, leaving
toxic droppings along the way. Not exactly
Templeton from Charlotte’s Web.

Oakland, my home town, won
the award for the fourth “rattiest” city.
A dubious honor. But then again Oakland
doesn’t get many awards.
There was a minor celebration. A parade
with ten people singing Three Blind Mice.

So here we are with rats
scuttling our ivy, gnawing
holes in kitchen cupboards,
breeding in the crawl space,
thou shalt not kill
Six tiny babies. Sort of cute.
Did you know two rats can swell
to over a thousand in less than a year?
thou shalt not kill

I ordered a Tomcat Rat Snap Trap
from Amazon for $6.79. Baited it
with peanut butter. Set it out,
praying my karma wouldn’t be tarnished,
that I wouldn’t return as a revolting rodent
in my next life.
A bloated rat hanging half in and half out.
Neck snapped.
Score one.

Getting into the swing,
I ordered three more traps, set them out.
Two sprung, but empty. The third
with a sparrow, still fluttering
with a fading cheep cheep,
thou shalt not kill

I tossed the traps into the trash,
waved a wobbly white flag. The rats
are winning three to one. For sure
they will inherit this earth.
We will move to Mars, freezing
in our space suits, subject to dust storms,
exposed to cancer–causing radiation.
But more stars and moons.
And no rats.

By Claire Scott

Skulking around the perimeter of life wearing a
Mickey Mouse mask
and an oversized hoodie which I found in a dumpster outside
Denny’s
which doesn’t count as stealing does it?

I was raised with religion the eighth commandment and
fiery fingers
pulling you down which is why I sneak around so I
don’t draw the attention
of the devil on the label of Dave’s BBQ Sauce holding a
pitchfork
all the better to thrust you into the flames

what of my tenth grade teacher Mr. Hanson of halitosis
breath
who caught me cheating on the Algebra exam why
study
when Hannah is just one seat over who seems to care about
boats

floating upstream/downstream about x’s and y’s
the school expelled me [ex+pellere to drive away] my friends
forgot me
I learned to love flying solo on cocaine

then there’s my mother Freud had lots to say
about mothers but my mother was not the one at fault
although
she did pray loudly most of the day that I turn out better
that I clean the bathrooms that I make her cucumber
martinis

once I heard her call the police to see if there is some spot
where
you can sell a child or simply drop him off in front
of
the firehouse I hid in the hall closet but she is not the one
who made me turn out like this

what is this? this street walking sideswiping jobless loser
skulking
around the perimeter of life sleeping on sidewalks
with my stuffed dog, Spot, pretending he is really real
wrapped in a worn blanket
but a blanket is not a place

I am looking for a place where my name remembers me
a place with a different color sky.