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New poems by April Salzano.


Sims 3: Ambitions


My ten-year-old son says to me:

I lost all my money somehow

either I paid my taxes or I lost my job

and you need money to eat

and have plumbing

so when your hunger gets really low -

there’s a bar and it goes down to show

how low it is -

you starve to death.

So I make funny ways to die,

knowing I am going to.

Ok, so before I die, I get in the shower

or I get in bed with my wife

or someone else’s wife, that’s even better.

Or I lie down with my daughter, or

someone else’s, or

wet myself and go to a friend’s

house and die in his bed

while he’s watching tv.

Or I go to work to die.

I am a teacher so that’s funny, dying

right in front of your students,

or in a random person’s shower.

Or while driving or having sex or fishing.

Just fall in the lake. You come back

to life, you just have nothing

when you do.


a line, (a blue one)


Yesterday’s Fiasco

gave me a hive the size

of a golf ball on my forehead so

I drew a face on it with eyeliner

and called it quits. I also

have heartburn and a lump

in my throat a Vicodin hangover

a rebound headache and more

regret than I thought I could contain.

I was recovering

from a crisis the day before

that made me run until

I was out of fluid

in my joints so I smoked one

which made me sleep

in I was late for work

before I remembered that I don’t

anymore. They fired my sorry ass

for being melodramatic on the job.


a line, (a blue one)


Love Affair


Last night my husband dreamed I broke

up with him for a poem. He said it wasn’t

the least bit funny. It was

realistic, line breaks

and stanzas scattered around

the house as evidence. Don’t think

it didn’t hurt because it did, you

wanting a poem more than me.

You stopped cooking dinner,

the house was a disaster.

All you cared about was this

poem. By this point he’s crying,

and I am still trying to get a visual

of a love affair with a poem.

How did we…?

My husband was dead

serious here. I tried to be

sympathetic, but the whole idea

was, well, poetic.

We’d have a couple haikus,

build a small press in the woods,

and live happily ever after, anthologized

on opposing pages.



a line, (a blue one)


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