Monthly Archives: August 2016

Poor White Girl, poem by David Jibson

You’ve seen her before serv­ing greasy fried pota­toes at Denny’s, clean­ing rooms at Motel 6, or sell­ing gas and cig­a­rettes at Mini-Mart. One day she’ll mar­ry a boy Who stacks lum­ber at Home Depot, lays car­pet or dri­ves a tow … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Truckload of Trouble, fiction by Tom Leins

I hear the rat­tle of the tow-truck’s rust­ed chain before I see it roll down the rut­ted track and into view. The last time I saw the Mul­li­gan broth­ers they hung a guy known as Blood Bub­ble from a hook … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Scarecrow, fiction by Hilary Leftwich

Scare­crow Dol­ly fakes her death by star­va­tion while the oth­ers at the table take sec­onds from the bowl of mashed pota­toes and slices of meat­loaf. Mama announces there’s no pie for dessert, just but­ter cook­ies. She has lit­tle tol­er­ance left … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Law of the Whippoorwill, fiction by Cecile Dixon

In the dim, neon truck stop light, I stud­ied Gerald’s face. His jaw was clenched tight as he said, "Pharyl, these things are com­pli­cat­ed. It's not like work­ing at fuck­ing McDonald’s,” Ger­ald rolled the words off his tongue giv­ing sound … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Fiend's Last Job, fiction by Matt Phillips

One You do this job long enough, and you get so you want an audi­ence; it’s not van­i­ty, but a vague notion that you’re not appre­ci­at­ed. If a lit­tle old wife watch­es you smash her hus­band’s hand to pieces with … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Blue Lights, essay by Paul Crenshaw

When the cop pulled us over at close to 4 in the morn­ing, my drunk­en uncle said to let him do the talk­ing. The blue lights lit his face in the rearview mir­ror, and lat­er it would occur to me … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Taking Grandma Home, fiction by Ginger Hamilton

There are two main sec­tions in the fam­i­ly ceme­tery, the unfor­tu­nate "sol­diers of the cause" and the "damned Yan­kees." Fac­tions of my kin­folk still don't speak to one anoth­er due to choic­es made dur­ing the War Between the States. This … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Bear Takes a Meeting (Trinity Ridge)

Our Com­plaints & Ques­tions Bureau is based in the bot­tom of a dry well. We will help you down there if you wish to file a report on my asso­ciates’ con­duct. Which creek-bed is your favorite? We’ll mud you in, … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Anna, Whose Last Name Is Covered In Lichens, 1851–1920, poem by Matt Prater

And I was there as well, I saw. My hands, too, went out and made the world. I did not only imag­ine the sol­diers, I touched them. I soothed, with cool rags, the dying John­ny sol­dier; I soothed, with cool … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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