Size / / /

They told us this war would never end

so we signed up for the duration;

after all, job security.

There was some surplus left over from the War on Drugs,

and we helped ourselves.

At least, this would provide armor

against the tedium

of waiting forever to be terrorized.

The reading matter we had to pass the time

included pamphlets about the earlier wars,

all worthwhile, all still inconclusive:

on cancer, heart disease, cerebral palsy,

lupus, and hirsutism.

And then, there were the inspirational books:

Coping with Nameless Dread,

How to Fear Practically Everything,

How to Win Enemies & Alienate People,

and other trenchant works.

Finally, we got the full message:

insecurity was our only security.

Shaking in our boots,

and glad to be doing so,

we waited for the other shoe to fall.




Duane Ackerson's poetry has appeared in Rolling Stone, Yankee, Prairie Schooner, The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, Cloudbank, alba, Starline, Dreams & Nightmares, and several hundred other places. He has won two Rhysling awards and a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. He lives in Salem, Oregon. You can find more of his work in our archives.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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