Skip to main content

Max Heinegg

Copier

   For Montag

The lounge is quiet, & the queue
over. Outside our window, a teacher’s
car circles the lot for parking but finds none.

I’m an old hand at the machine, making these
two-sided gauges of attention’s ebb.
Today, it’s Oedipus again & tragedy
for seniors who’d rather take lovers,
or cram into a car to toe the beach,
but I follow them! & stand in their sun
like a certain fireman who blasts the guests
declaiming poetry as if only

he needs love to fill the bed of faith. They, too,
are moved by waves against their will, & stumble
where raised voices cannot reach their company.


Steve Describes Infinity

  For C.B.

I met a quality control manager
from a pharmaceutical company who said
he’d gone out to lunch at a Boston Market
with his friend Steve, & as they stood in line,
they saw, in the fluorescent lights,
the stacked rows, glistening
in cages on spit rods, the Maillard change
make the aureate glow
on an endless abacus,
the birds on the level of heaven &
the birds on the level of Earth.So many
Chickens
, he said—
as behind the nondescript counter,
the rotisserie chickens turn away.

Max Heinegg is a high school English teacher who lives in Medford, MA. He's the co-founder and brewmaster of Medford Brewing Company. He has poems coming out soon in Thrush, Nimrod, Misfit Magazine, and Stone Canoe.  He's also a singer-songwriter whose records can be heard at www.maxheinegg.com

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Amy Holman

My mother made herself the deer with a broken leg 
We saw a deer through the pane into someone else’s yard. The leg moved like a tube sock pinned to the hip  and half filled with sticks. I did not like to see it suffer,
either. She was upset —my mother —that no one helped  the doe. Was it a mother, too? As if we were the first to observe the scene. We weren’t. All had been told to
let her be. My mother had suffered a destruction  of the self, a divorce, and no one cared. That wasn’t true.  We were grown, on our own. I agree it was hard. Yet 
in those moments of a cold November day, we watched  a doe, disabled and enduring, walk across a yard and eat  a hedge. I wish she could have seen it like that.
Amy Holman is the author of the collection, Wrens Fly Through This Opened Window (Somondoco Press, 2010) and four chapbooks, including the prizewinning Wait for Me, I’m Gone (Dream Horse Press, 2005). Recent poems have been in or accepted by Blueline, concis, Gargoyle, The Westchester Revie…

Bree

No Mote
black swans i almost didnt see
but for their glowy beaks
red as sumac- they didnt match
the dark tones of lake, stuck out
like your lust for me while i read to
the children all cloistered- who could
hear me even from the colonnade,
all hickory and hops-vine, where
i saw you watch me from inside
a white willow tree.

mergansers with their heads trailing
swam among dead stakes of lotus.
that belted kingfisher bode us a
good day, and returned the
children to their cages below bald
cypress knees so naked i had
to look away.

you willowed no longer, i took leaf to mean wing, and feather to mean ivy. i took a shaded path back
to the armory. it got hot and thick
and i could breathe more heavily,
rapt on high, no mote of hope.



Bree is a poet and visual artist living in Pleasureville, KY. Her Green Panda Press has put out hand-made chapbooks, anthologies and sundry of the very small art and poetry press since 2001. In 2015 she began Least Bittern Books out of Henry County, KY with a focus on poetry paperbacks b…

June Poem Reviews

I've had fiction and non-fiction reviews published in quite a few journals and have been a member of the National Book Critics Circle, when I could afford it. Therefore, I feel quasi-professional in those arenas. I don't necessarily feel that way about my poetry reviews. I have opinions, though, and in the interest of keeping my poetry-mind occupied during an otherwise stressful time in my life, I'd like to make you, the poetry world, an offer. If you mail me your chapbook or book--at least 24 pages but no more than 100 pages, self-published or traditional--I will post a review of between 150 and 300 words about it, as professionally as I can, in the following months. Promise. Mail me your book, get a review. Easy. If I get a huge response, I'll declare a cap and communicate it here. I would prefer to work from print copies. I hate reading poetry in PDF or MOBI--my preferred methods for prose--because the lines never break correctly and I find myself critiquing lineati…