THREE POEMS by HOWARD KAPLAN

A Clown Eating a TV Dinner

This is the heavenly world abandoning 

a mouth wider than a silverback’s hands. 

Juggling obtuseness at the center of a flower 

for a crowd devoured by each other. 

Swaying to the music of a television’s fizzy static, 

he serenades under the hug of a banned rainbow, while

never opening his vermilion lips. If he knew of work—

a perfect apparition he would be. Slouching between 

the peaceful recesses of a feather couch, he nibbles and 

plays with portions of needful dessert chocolate. 

A wasted man once a caricature, fishing for smiles 

in dumpsters. He never thought about the text that 

pricked his gloved fingers, as he painted the sidewalk.


A Man with a Rattail Riding an Electric Bike

I could hear a constant tone, a level hum,

a whizzing of an intricate system in forward

momentum with no external force.

It was like seeing the Wicked Witch of the West

darting by in front of a dull cement-colored sky.

You would have been taken aback by the strangeness of

a man, bald at the scalp, his rattail waving behind his skull

like the string of a balloon floating among rain clouds.


He passed the cookie houses as if in a wind tunnel

linking him to his destination.

His cadaverous cheeks showed no effort &

his dotted eyes seemed to look both wild & focused

across his livid face. He sat with a straight back

on a battery held by two spinning wheels,

wearing a baby pink t-shirt with the number 10,

a coat of arms in bold sans serif type,

his black shorts hiked up high on his thighs,

he carried only himself. Either coming or going,

both the same, since he would be coming or going

either way, each way. Anyway, he was traveling,

that’s for sure. As he passed, I reflected on

whether the reality of the world was held in appearance—

just as fast—being punctually propelled

to ugliness or beauty &

he was gone.


Trigger Model no. 3

We walked barefoot on the warm grass

crunching leaves between

the soles of our feet.

I rip plants from the earth

to see their roots. It is true,

they are the same length as

their shoots.


I notice the joint between

her lips burning quickly,

just like my relaxation.

She passes, & I take a hit.

Gone for now are the jagged

fence posts that I need to fix.


We notice that there are

ripples in the water.

She watches the ripples.

She uses them to tell time.

I tell time by counting the flies

stuck between the smudged glass &

white window blinds, trying to escape

into the mirrored world &

dropping out of it. That is one lifetime—

about fifteen days. 


Our resistance is made dirty by

the need for violent stomping.

Sunburned, we lay in the broken flowerbed,

with purple, yellow, & red toes,

as we pull the trigger on

not doing anything today.


I will probably replace the flowers &

fix that fence tomorrow.

I watch the fading smoke hover above,

as she licks her upper lip &

takes another hit.


Howard Kaplan (he/him) is a poet and visual artist. His work has recently appeared in SWAMP, Mad in America, and Cool Beans Lit. He received a BFA from Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota Florida, and an M.Ed., and Ph.D. from the University of South Florida, where he teaches, and lives with his mini schnauzer, Princess Leia, his wife Andrea, and daughters Hyla & Kinsey. He is on instagram @kappy_arts.

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TWO POEMS by SAM BOVARD