Three Pieces by Joe Kapitan
Cold in here tonight. Not many guys, mostly the regulars. This damn wig sucks, but it’s what they say they need. Horseback, brass pole, whatever.
Jukebox full of country. Baby’s gone, money’s gone, pride’s gone. Booze still comes around. Now barkeep says I’m done. There aren’t enough quarters. On earth.
Students: This forgettable strip bar, Memphis Dolls, contains thirteen people, staff plus customers. All thirteen wish they were somewhere else. Why do we self-hell? Discuss.
Joe Kapitan: architect, Clevelander, college football fan, microbrew drinker, writer of short fiction appearing online in PANK, Wigleaf, SmokeLong Quarterly, Necessary Fiction, Emprise Review, etc. and pending in print at Fractured West and Bluestem.
Four Pieces by Sara Lippmann
Tomboy No More
When the gypsy moths arrived her father walled waists in silver tape but the old maple died from defoliation. She climbed out her bedroom window.
No one promises cotton candy. Still, find me anyone bustled in tulle and stuffed like a present that doesn’t feel worth a cloud, feel something.
Their hotel had one of those kids’ clubs so parents could drink away their vacation, staring past the pool, silent, swirling celery snappy as whips.
Take a lover! Who doesn’t want to eat it and have it? As if frosting by the forkful won’t dissolve in the mouth but replenish.
Sara Lippmann is a writer in Brooklyn. Follow her on twitter @saralippmann