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Imagine you're on Mars, looking at earth, a swirl of colors in the distance. Tell us what you miss most, or least. Let your feelings rise to the surface. Skim that surface with a tiny net. Now you're getting the hang of it. Tell us your story slantwise, streetwise, in the disguise of an astronaut in his suit. Tell us something we didn't know before: how words mean things we didn't know we knew.
Copyright © 2012 by Wyn Cooper. Used with permission of the author.
Chaos is the new calm
violence the new balm
to be spread on lips
unused to a kiss.
Left is the new right
as I brace for a fight
with a man who stands
on his remaining hand.
Fetid harbor harbor me
until someone is free
to drive me away
from what happened today.
Don't strand me standing here.
If you leave, leave beer.
What was it you wanted he calls out the door as I walk toward his house, which tilts uphill. I just wanted to ask, I start to say — but he cuts me off, tells me he doesn’t talk to strangers, says that I should go away. I tell him I like his old car, I name the year and model, and soon he is shaking my hand, inviting me in for home-brewed beer.