2007 - Vol. 4, Issue 7

Chris Kuell is a father, husband, writer, editor, sibling, friend, and advocate. He'd like to take this opportunity to thank the generous people who sponsored him. A thousand good karma points to all.

I'd sing Gershwin in Greek,
fishtail my way
through a sea of booze,
smile at the cops
and ever–so–politely
rip up their sober tickets.

She offered me a ring, pressed it close in passion's heat against the black birthmark beneath my temple known only to the two of us. The proposal had been a long time coming.

Keep the pint in the paper bag
so the swallow burns
as long as it will—

Daddy's motorcycle in our driveway on Valentine's Day could mean only one thing: he was here without his girlfriend, Marnie. I rushed inside and wrapped him in a hug. He handed me a red heart–shaped box with a picture of a girl whose eyes winked and mouth kissed when you turned the box this way and that.

Mama brought Daddy a cup of coffee. Daddy blew across the top of the cup and then sipped up the cooled surface. "Perfect, Edie. You always knew how much sugar I needed." He looked up at Mama with his flirting eyes and winked.

"Least I could do your coffee right," was all Mama said back.