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Charles Rammelkamp

  Doped with Religion, Sex and TV “ Working class hero, my foot,” Darleen spat. “Pampered British rock star’s more like it. He don’t know nothin’ about no working class,” she sneered, “and that Jap witch he married. She’s probly the one who put them ideas in his head.” Darleen and I worked on the assembly line at the Capitol Records plant, putting fresh-pressed LPs into sleeves, the packaged albums into cardboard boxes, the boxes onto pallets for the forklift guy to take them away to the loading dock. “I used to like some of them early songs. ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand,’ ‘A Hard Day’s Night,’ but you can have this stuff. Working class hero! Who does he think he’s kidding?” I stuffed my impulse to defend Lennon, point out his poverty in postwar Liverpool, the broken family, the absent sailor father; mainly offended by Doreen’s naked racism, pitying her for the misogyny she’d absorbed from generations of farmers on the prairie. I was a college student, workin

Daniel Edward Moore

John 1:1 In the beginning was the word and the word was tired, but even half-conscious I was seduced by the slurred speech of the holy. Oh, Christ the carbohydrate chased by twelve shots of whiskey, take me to thy church. Be gone from my lips, oh, demon expresso, oh, CPAP hose making love with my airway to keep my oxygen happy. If the word becomes flesh, something I can kiss, with a glassblower’s flaming tongue, summon me quick, so the dead in me may rise from the heart’s silent ruins. Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His poems have appeared in Phoebe, Southern Humanities Review and others. His work is forthcoming in Action Spectacle Magazine, The Meadow Journal, The Chiron Review and Delta Poetry Review. His book, “Waxing the Dents,” from Brick Road Poetry Press.

Paul Ilechko

 Inheritance A lack of paperwork an emptiness of filing cabinets  a distinct lack of manila envelopes   he was born unwanted  learning at a pre-verbal age  to tolerate the hot-potato shuffle  his budget plywood crib cheaply painted with angry rabbits following him from house to house  the aunt with oversized teeth  would peer for a time  from above a severe absence of chin  and the very next day  the hairless uncle who lacked even eyebrows  would fail to appear surprised  he didn’t care much where he went as long as he was fed  his taste in adults supremely inclusive  but at some point in time  the ball had to finally stop rolling  and life then settled into an equilibrium but everything now is upside down again all interested parties reappearing  as lawsuits drag anxiously on an inheritance contested  the entire clan eagerly awaits to see how poor or rich he might be and every last one of them is prouder than they ever were before to be recognized as his kith and kin. Paul Ilechko is