Poetry 2013 / Volume 44

Punishment: The Dryer — Kevin Griffith

Perhaps a mob job.  But he tumbles on “cotton,” heat seeping through his cringed eyelids. He could think amusement ride, he could think kid playing astronaut, but it’s no fun when the lungs sear raw with waiting. And even if he could somehow kick or punch the porthole door open, what would lie on the … Continue reading