Gawaine Caldwater Ross

Tool Shed

Hard rain rakes the roof of my shed.

It’s autumn, and the wind tosses the blanket

That serves as my door.

I wrap my quilt around me

And stare at the books on the wall.

There’s no electricity, and after dark

I can’t read by candlelight.

I haven’t a stove or a fridge;

I live on oatmeal, cabbage, and scraps of cheese.

I drink rain water, or tea,

If I can get a fire going outdoors.

Today when the storm rolled in

I stripped and begged to be struck by lightning,

But Zeus was not obliging.

Yesterday in a state of helpless rage

I hammered a boulder into gravel;

It didn’t help my mood.

Two weeks ago I hiked to the coop

And posted a notice that said:

Help! I can’t find a job!

I have no cash, savings, bonds,

Gems, certificates, stocks,

Monies due, property, or anything else.

There’s been no response.

I’ve been homeless before -

This is nearly as bad.

I came here to be with Darla at her invitation,

The cabin is small, so we

Screwed outside in the summer sun,

Green leaves fell from buttocks.

But after only a month she declared

I bored her, and would have to go

Live in the tool shed instead.

I built the house she’s staying in,

But I don’t own it.

She brings back a new guy every week

Including an Italian fascist,

And she is Jewish!

She stated, “Commitment sounds like a jail term.”

Am I really that boring?

My friends say she’s sadistic,

But I love her so much,

I can’t let go of hope.

My Rockland friends want me

To go on the road and sing with them,

But I’d have to leave Darla,

And the band doesn’t pay.

Yo would give me pot to sell,

But I no longer believe in breaking the law.

I watch the rain flood the yard,

According to the news

There’ll be a frost tonight.

I put on extra clothing,

So much, it makes me stiff.

I stare at the ceiling,

Counting the cracks in the old whitewash.

Gawaine Caldwater Ross was born to a military family in Boston. His family was troubled with alcoholism and schizophrenia. Gawaine spent 10 months in a mental hospital as a teenager and then lived on the streets. Homeless 5 times, and married 3 times, he eventually became a nurse. He has had poems published in various online journals and in a few small publications. He currently lives on a very pretty street in the Back Bay with a cheery little dog named Yayo.

Comments

David Oliver Cranmer

Not Just Another Playlist Often, I sit in my swivel chair looking out the window, while jazz, country, or rock music plays. This pleasure goes on for many hours a mystic trance of sorts streaming—the glue maintaining my soul. I turn the best songs into playlists (once we called them mix tapes) puzzling over the perfect order. Does Satchmo’s “What a Wonderful World” kick off my latest list or make it the big soulful closer? And does “Mack the Knife” go higher in the set than “Summertime?” That’s an Ella Fitzgerald duet! “Foolishness? No, it’s not” whether you are climbing a tree to count all the leaves or tapping to beats. These are the joys that bring inner peace and balance (to a cold universe) lifting spirits skyward. David Oliver Cranmer ’s poems, short stories, articles, and essays have appeared in publications such as Punk Noir Magazine , The Five-Two: Crime Poetry Weekly , Needle: A Magazine of Noir , LitReactor , Macmillan’s Criminal Element , and

Corey Mesler

I think of you tonight, my Beats I think of you tonight, my Beats, and I am grateful. I walked the narrow lanes of Academia and never felt at home. There were men and women in the flowerbeds, their heads full of theorems and poems. There were teachers who could lift their own weight in prose. I was lonely. I was too loose. I was a lad from the faraway country of Smarting. But I had you as so many before me. I had you and I knew secret things. I could count on you like a percussion. And now I want to say: I love you. If not for you, what? I want to say. If Allen Ginsberg did not exist it would be necessary to invent him. COREY MESLER has been published in numerous anthologies and journals including Poetry, Gargoyle, Five Points, Good Poems American Places, and New Stories from the South . He has published over 25 books of fiction and poetry. His newest novel, The Diminishment of Charlie Cain , is from Livingston Press. He also wrote the screenplay for We Go On , which won The Me

Amy Holman

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