The Cafe Review

by Frederick Wilbur Days of tenacious March when songbirds drain the feeders like visiting magicians, I watch from my desk window — the urge to

by Frederick Wilbur Too praising, you could sabotage this poem, finely wrought, keenly carved, hand thrown, the kind crafted perhaps with an

by Margaret Young Another June, embarrassing roses brandish their sexual petals. The swan– necked excavator digs up the shady street while

by Steve Luria Ablon I have to pee even though I don’t. I place my arms across my chest like the Buddha, to hold myself here. This is how

by Steve Luria Ablon Use the telephone keypad. Transmit your social security, careful just the last four numbers. Recall your address, your zip

by Steve Luria Ablon Who wants to read first? Who will take notes? A last name starting with A is always first, always anxious, always armed. So

by Brian Evans-Jones Sea City Museum: first return after emigration (Southampton, England) She thinks our son’s first word is “Mom”: I

by Brian Evans-Jones No rain here — the clouds thicken but keep mum and if not quite still then at least demure. No rain though the air’s charged

by Douglas K. Currier Birthday a poem for J K Durick on the occasion of his birthday I’m not sure when it stops being party and

is a poet, contemporary dancer, and Thai massage therapist. She holds a master of fine arts degree in poetry from Vermont College and is

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