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  April 2017
volume 14 number 1
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  featured poets
  John LaMar Elison
  Gabriella Garofalo
  John Grey
  Dani Raschel Jiménez
  Scott C. Kaestner
  Rick Lupert
  Afric McGlinchey
  Bethany W Pope
  Sanjeev Sethi
  mailing list
Rick Lupert April 2017



    Los Angeles poet Rick Lupert created the Poetry Super Highway ( ) and hosted the Cobalt Cafe weekly reading for almost 21 years. He’s authored 22 collections of poetry, most recently Beautiful Mistakes and God Wrestler: a Poem for Every Torah Portion and edited the anthologies A Poet’s Siddur, Ekphrastia Gone Wild, A Poet’s Haggadah, and The Night Goes on All Night. He writes the Jewish Poetry Blog “From the Lupertverse” for, and the daily web comic “Cat and Banana” with fellow Los Angeles poet Brendan Constantine. He’s widely published and reads his poetry wherever they let him.
Poetry Super Highway



When I Die

When I die
have a jazz funeral.
Second line it. Make it funny.
Guys dressed as Groucho
rainbow suspenders
comic arrows through their heads.

When I die
bury me in an above ground cemetery.
Put up a ladder so people can climb
up and see as far as they can see.

When I die
turn my house into a museum.
Let people open the cabinets and
see how I hid the curios from my travels.
Let the smaller ones try on my outfits.
Make cat petting a free add on experience.
Actually make that mandatory.

When I die
take my wife in your arms.
Don't let her feel alone.

copyright 2017 Rick Lupert



Another Ramos Gin Fizz

I could have any drink in the world
but nostalgia brings me back to this one.
My memory three days old. Strong
and old.

We walk down Bourbon Street and
a swingers parade has broken out.
You have to be invited to
go to the after party.

It is a Wednesday, so naturally
the party on this street is in full swing.
Beads rain out of the sky. Barriers
don't block the intersections but

cars wouldn't dare go down it.
Every restaurant and strip club
and music salon personally
invites us in. We're just here

for the memories and they stop at
Canal Street where there never was
a canal. Here at the house of
our libations the bartenders grow

strong muscles performing their
gin fizzes. One is being shaken for me.
It will travel to our table on an animal
that is somewhere between

a horse and a mule. Bred this way
to tolerate these late hours. Here it comes.
Here it is. Tomorrow I'll be in states that
don't understand the word parish.

I only got it this week. You can
learn anything if someone tells
it to you. Oh, the things I will tell
people when I cross the mountains

where the air has no water. Where my cats
will come out from under the bed and say
where have you been? Don't do that again.
But I will.

copyright 2017 Rick Lupert