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  November 2017
volume 14 number 2
-table of contents-
 
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  Gary Beck
  Jack G. Bowman
  Sir Mark Bruback
  JR Campbell
  Adrian Ernesto Cepeda
  Darren C Demaree
  Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi
  Raymond Fenech
  Gerda Govine Ituarte
  Grant Guy
  Hedy Habra
  Danielle Harper
  JD Hart
  Tom Irish
  Kait Jensen
  Michael Lee Johnson
  Elisabeth Khan
  Ron Lucas
  Suzanne O'Connell
  Scott Thomas Outlar
  E. Martin Pedersen
  John D Robinson
  Miriam Sagan
  Rishan Singh
  Spencer Smith
  Ann Christine Tabaka
  Viola Weinberg
  Cade Williams
  Terry Wolverton
  Bill Yarrow
 
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Bill Yarrow
November 2017
   

 

bio


    Bill Yarrow, Professor of English at Joliet Junior College and an editor at Blue Fifth Review, is the author of The Vig of Love, Blasphemer, Pointed Sentences, and five chapbooks, most recently We All Saw It Coming. He has been nominated eight times for a Pushcart Prize. Against Prompts, his fourth full-length collection, is forthcoming in 2018 from Lit Fest Press.
Bill Yarrow

   

 

Yuletide Cranshaw

I meet him at the office Christmas Party.
Otherwise our paths in life would never cross.

A drink in both red hands, stirring the placid
pot of conversation, trying to increase its
inner heat, he declaims to no one in particular,
"An ounce of whore is worth a pound of spouse!"

That's because you never married, I think.
Only a man who's never not been alone
could think a thought like that. He laughs,
pokes the upper arm of the prettiest woman
at the makeshift bar. "Right? Right?" he asks.

Most of the women shift uncomfortably
and drift away. A few who enjoy blushing
move closer. He becomes the nucleus
of a spirited group of mostly neckless men.

The oily conversation behind me flares up.
Sharp sparks from it seem to threaten the tree.

Cranshaw likes his bon mot so well he says again,
"An ounce of whore is worth a pound of spouse!"
Raucous laughter erupts. Bully cheers resound.

To a young woman of recent acquaintance
I chuckle, Well, in my experience at least,
I've found that an ounce of spouse is worth
much
more than a pound of whore.

She stares at me with frosted disbelief.
I endure a silence reverberant as greed.

copyright 2017 Bill Yarrow