by Tim

Dumbledore's Army - by Tim


What kind of sillyass
juxtapositional oxymoron
declaration
is that on Tony's car?

Armies aren't peace.

This whole HP thing
is pretty damn violent,
if you ask me.

Even with elves and wands
and horcruxes
instead of fighter jets.

Even with British accents -
well, look at James Bond.

Violent.

Even with kickass wizardgirls
with freaky first names.

Okay, Granger was pretty cool.
And Hagrid was a humongous
soft-o-hearted godfather.
And Harry,
he actually pulled it together
at the end.

An army.

Violent,
because armies are,
I guess.

Fight for peace?
Sounds backwards.

What was the alternative?

I'm in.

by Terese

What Boys Don't Know - by Terese


One helluvan old bathroom
this place has.

Dea says,
Ever seen one of these?

Standing next to it,
I google the name
on the metal machine
and it's ancient.
Modess isn't even a company
I can find.

Modess?
Like "modest?"
Right here in the public restroom?

Dea digs in her purse
and puts a dime in.
Nada.

Pads. Ugh.
Who uses them?

Oh.
Dea.

I never knew that!

We're laughing,
elbowing each other,
and in walks
this tall pinch-nosed witchwoman in black heels.
We tumble out the swinging door,
snorting.

What boys don't know.

Boys get to pee on the toilet seat.

Girls have to deal with
pads and cramps
and moods.

What boys don't know
is how embarrassing it is
to even have
feminine products
for sale
in the restroom.

And if we'd really needed one,
we would have
lost our money
and been running home
to change jeans.

by Li

InsideLaughingOut - by Li

Standing outside the shop,
reality and reflection fuse.

If I stare long enough
I don't know
which is inside,
which is out.


The lady is like me.

I am not a reflection
but acting
in a glass box,
the world pasting itself on me.


And do I keep on laughing?

I do.

by Janet

The Huddle - by Janet

Here it is, folks,
the Big Game!

Fans huddled in their TV room
chowing tacos
watching
players huddled in their shoulder pads
who are doing all the
exercise.

And look out the window!
We've got
Southern California, here!

Sunny
breezy
seventy-five degreezy
and
no referee!

Enjoy your from-the-can queso dip.

I've touched down
on the beach.

by Josefine

Buddha and Mary - by Josefine


How far I have come,
thinks Buddha,
from
one without excess
to
this bulging largess,
a slick trinket sold for paperfied gold.

How far I have come,
thinks Mary,
from
one humble virgin
to
this other version,
promoting my grace with a furry blue face.


There they are.

Standing together.

Glistening belly
and
solemn soft fuzz.

Neither quite ready
for the is
from the was.

by Daco

Celebrat'n da New Year - by Daco

Dat's what ahm talkin bout.

Red slop
cat-sup
dat Toe-maaay-toe jazz.

All shiny
in a bitty paper cuppa thing,
ready for it
ready for it
but naw
you gotta waaaaait
cause da burger ain't up yet.

And da burger's job,
see,
is to
transport
d'important
stuff.

Red slop.

Sometimes at home,
right outta bottle,
open wide.

Where's dat burger?

Slop me.