CURRENT ISSUE (#42)
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Poetry Selection – Linda Gregg, Not Knowing the RulesThe two white-bellied antelope stood still
Fiction Selection – From Chad Unrein's YardsJenks and I are at war because I moved into his sweetheart's house and I don't cut the grass. He comes to visit most nights with a spade full of cat shit that he slings onto my front porch. When he's finished the deed he stands out there in the moonshine like a little powdered troll waiting for the house to fall down on me. The nights he doesn't come I get worried. There's something reassuring about the sound of that dung being scattered in the night. It means he cares. The nights he doesn't come I worry he's given up. I used to be a little embarrassed about the fact that my cat Cash, liked to shit on Jenks's welcome mat. I used to be a little concerned about all the notes Jenks left in my mail box, all the terrible things he said he'd do to my cat. But now it's more of a game between us. Now I let Cash slide out the door at night like a little greased commando, and I watch him through the window as he crosses the street with stealth to Jenks's front door. Later in the night, Jenks will return the favor. He'll grab his little gardening spade and gather up the stinking gift Cash has left him and head for my house. Sometimes I see him coming across the street under the yellow lamplight. He doesn't look purposeful like an angry man should. He looks a little apprehensive like the whole neighborhood is watching him. He starts from the nightshade of his porch and moves through the halo of the lamplight quickly when he is most exposed. And then he is in my front yard. He brings the shovel from his hip, and I have to listen hard to hear Cash's mess scatter on the porch. |
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