Poems. By April Salzano.



Free to Good Home


Mother. Highly dysfunctional,

self-righteous, often

combative. All shots.

Needs declawed.

House broken.

Call (724) 657-4986

anytime. Will deliver.



a line, (a black one)


Poem Envy


My poem is still shaking in its boots

after listening to hers, read

at a dinner party in honor of linguistics.

My poem felt all Times New Roman, mediocre,

bland. My poem coveted thy neighbor’s

goods, imagery, implications. My poem

was underdressed for such an occasion anyway,

wearing flip flops and cut offs to

her smart suit and knotted neckerchief affair.

My poem didn’t accessorize. It mixed

metaphors and stood wallflowered

during cocktails and dinner conversation,

dissertation, explication. My poem

made only small talk about the weather

and failed miserably at witty banter. My poem

passed the escargot on the left

and drank its champagne before the toast.

Her poem was eloquent, the center

of deserved attention and involuntary admiration.

When her lines echoed Plathian allusions

in carefully articulated syllables,

my poem forgot to excuse itself

and peed its pants before dessert.



a line, (a black one)


Phone Death 3pm


My iCloud is full. Backup, which occurs

when the unit is locked, plugged in and

connected to WiFi, which has failed. I should

manage by storage in Settings, check

my data usage, and manually back up.

I take three steps in reverse, check my screen,

move my face, kill my apps. A lifeline

blinks, vanishes under the steel toe of my boot.


a black line

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