High School

below,


hats
flopped from ranges of stoves
 and the dust
that constituted sky
was left over for scientists
to pluck at
haphazardly.

what a game,
waiting for the ice

to heat the lake,

the shake of drugs
that flagged us
till we burned blue
and ugly and cold
and spelled "night" as
       "nite"



Grad School Boyfriend

He woke me

     Up with

Important            news

              About space

And time

                 It is the end

                        He said

 But

He said it

Was also the     beginning



               So

               What

I said

                 That doesn't matter I don't care

 He said it's not

 That you

Don't        care   it's

            That you

 Don't

Get

 it

              I said      I get it

 I petted my cat

                             I get it

I just

Think

               You're a

                         prick

for
the record I
     do
 get    it.



At The Train Station

at the train station mother

    said

                it was possible to do anything

at

the    train

      station

                            mother with her valium

                  eyes

                                  ate

    only cake

that grew from trees

                                                at the train station

                       a bush burned

                                        in the corner

    neither

   biblical

   nor presidential

at the train station

                                                           at the train station

                                      a cat scratched my paws

                                                 a community of dragons

                                           poisoned my bottled water

                               and a crowd of phony heroes

    clapped

                                       as a leering boy named Jim

                with a terribly

                              sappy story

boarded

   the train with mother

                                                for "Milano."



About the author:
Ryan Croken work as an editor and activist for people writing fiction from within prison. He has published poems in The Philadelphia Inquirer and nthposition.com, a British e-journal. His poetry was recognized with honors by Gregory Djanikian in the Lois Morrell Poetry Contest.

Maya is a full time reporter for Truthout.org. She won first prize in the William Plumer Potter Fiction contest, and her writings have been published widely in such periodicals as Bitch, Zeek, The Nation, Punk Planet and In These Times.

© 2011 Word Riot