Green Mill by PW Covington

Broadway snow and slush in April
Parking meters take a breather and let us keep the change
Until next morning, Monday

Dark space
Deep place
“Cash only” hand written by the door
Poetry tonight
As it has been
     and will be

Come in from the wet snow
Slam the door

Turn table jukebox. 78’s
“Lydia, oh, Lydia
     have you met Lydia?”
The wooden bar wraps around the room

It’s Pabst on draft tonight
5 bucks a pint
I’m tryin’ to save my cash
Still drinking on Sioux Fall’s haul
Saving up for a down payment on a new
Second hand soul
No longer needed
By some transplant, that’s left for California
When I step on stage
A pilgrim
Of the word and world and the void
And of Broadway and passion and of, of, of
Truthiness-ish communion
With Palm Unit rhythm section
Bass, piano, and drums

Jazz and strong drink tabernacle
Rooms just like this
In April

Equal in glorious, dark, obscurity
Here for the words

 PW Covington writes in the beat tradition of the North American highway.

His latest book, a collection of short fiction, titled North Beach and Other Stories was recently named a 2019 Finalist in LGBTQ Fiction. Follow him @BeatPW

Telling the Truth by David Boski

she called me when I was
at work, hysterical, crying
and trying to compose herself
as she said: “I have something
to tell you.” I was worried,
immediately I thought she was
pregnant or worse and I said:
“relax, calm down, what’s wrong?
just tell me.”
“the clinic called me and I’m so
sorry, this is so embarrassing,
but they told me I have gonorrhea
and I gave them your name and
number so they might call you but
I told them I would do it” she said
still crying and trying to catch her
breath.
“what the fuck? are you sure? I feel
fine, what do I have to do?” I said
simultaneously relieved, pissed and
confused.
“you just have to go to the doctor so
they can give you medication” she
replied.
“ok” I said, “don’t worry about it, shit
happens, and I feel fine, take care.”
I hung up the phone and went back
to work and convinced myself that
this was some sort of sick joke she
was playing cause I went back to my
ex. a few days later I woke up in the
middle of the night and as I went to
take a piss, I felt a powerful burning
sensation shooting  through my penis,
as if somebody had stuck a blow torch
down there; I quickly turned towards
the sink and began pouring cold water
all over, on, and into my dick, realizing
she was telling the truth.

David Boski lives in Toronto. His poems have appeared in: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Horror Sleaze Trash, Under The Bleachers, Down in the Dirt, Beatnik Cowboy, Winamop, Ramingo’s Porch, Cactifur, North Of Oxford and elsewhere. His chapbook “Fist Fighting and Fornication” is out now and available through Holy&intoxicated Publications. 

Anything But A Scorpio. by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

   

You’re not a Scorpio are you?

she asks after several enjoyable moments

together.

You mean that thing that lives under rocks?

I ask.

She chokes on her beer and shakes her head yes.

Anything but a Scorpio,

she says.

They hold grudges forever.

I don’t believe in forever,

I say.

See gives me a curious look.

The same one my parents used

to give each other.

Leo, I offer,

like the lion.

King of the jungle

and all that business.

She says Leo isn’t great,

but it’s better than a damn Scorpio.

Then she tells me she is a Scorpio.

You mean that thing with the dangerous tail?

She looks down at the stool behind her

and smiles.

   

I thought Scorpios held a grudge forever.

Exactly,

she says.

That’s why it’s good

you’re a Leo.

Even the bartender is laughing.

Hey, don’t look at me,

he throws his hands in the air

as if under arrest.

I don’t even know what

the hell I am.

A bartender,

both myself and the Scorpio

answer.

To which

we all laugh

and share a round

on the house.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

I Wrote This To Piss You Off. by John Patrick Robbins

        

I penned this on paper first just to kill another tree .
Fueled on good booze and bad grammar and published it myself.

For it doesn't take me ninety days to know if something's shit .

I made sure to make some good digs and complimented a woman's ass and flipped off a cop just for good measure .

Rejected a spoiled poet who went out of their way to kiss my ass .
And wasted a whole day getting drunk and not answering my phone .

And if it offends you I choose to live my life instead of concern myself with yours .

Than this writes dedicated to you.


Nurse check please .

John Patrick Robbins Aka Coyote

Is currently mental patient of the month at the Frat and gets a gold star and bottle of Jim Beam for his efforts.

When not being driven insane from fellow writers he enjoys.

Serial killing and long conversations with the voices in his head .

He runs the Frat and you question why this place is so messed up .

Cheers drinks on the house .

How To Make Friends Fast by Scott Simmons

It is a little known fact that the word friend translates in Latin as:

That Guy who butt fucked a Goat at Kmart while Joni Mitchell watched in the corner.

Or whatever gibberish those dorks in dresses thought of before youtube was invented.

Anyways the point is if you want to make a friend then you need to hop on one foot and pee on a stranger while chanting the sensual words of Bob Ross.

For there are no bad mistakes just happy little accidents and that’s why I was born as a highlander suckling upon the warm teet of Mel Gibson.

Scott Simmons is a sheep herder from Shitkicker Texan with dreams of becoming the first aquatic Dolphin prostitute to walk on the moon in a leather gimp suit to fight off the upcoming P-Diddy invasion force on Delta 7 Vibrator Tango.  

Cashed in her MFA by Scot Young

I

she wears plaid skirts
knee socks on saturday nights
drinks too much &
lets bald men spank her
for money &
tell her she’s been a bad girl
but there’s enough freaks
to pay the bills
put her kid through college
so she quit writing
poetry
a long time ago

II

on sundays she wears
fishnets to church
sits on the front pew
gives the preacher
a little hell fire
of his own
crosses & slowly recrosses
her legs enough
that he yells
during the children's service
hallelujah
give me an amen
--stays behind the pulpit
until way after
the sermon was over

Scot Young lives with the woman of his dreams and herds goats on a ridge top  farm in the Missouri Ozarks and nothing else is as important.

Southern Billboards by PW Covington

I am being screamed at by billboards
Flashing by at 75 miles an hour

Come to our Cowboy Church
Our rock and roll, guitar church
Our biker church
Our church
     our church

God damn

Visit the visitor center
The Indian Mounds
Invest this year in a new time-share
Urgent care, next exit
Free in-room coffee, High Speed Wi-Fi
We’ll get you out of your time-share
Spend the night, tonight, in San Augustine
Vasectomy

The billboards on the highway teach me
Abortion stops a beating heart
And that God listens to Christian radio
That winners play the PowerBall Lottery
That lasers can reverse my vasectomy
That the café, just 10 miles up I-75
Has totally bare waitresses, raw steaks
     and clean showers

The billboards in Louisiana argue over
Whose caged tiger lived the longest
Pecan pralines and cracklin’s up ahead
Shipyards and refineries are hiring
Mesothelioma lawyers want to hear from you
8 nonstops a day from Dairy Queen to the West Coast

Click it or ticket
You pick it, you pull it
DWI, just don’t do it
Drivers eat free at Exit 173
(And more pralines)
Fried chicken and highway diesel
Vote, vote, vote for this guy
Look how clean his family is
And the stripes on that damned flag
We support our troops and first responders
Do not pick up hitchhikers, prison area

Join us Sunday at our Progressive Church

 PW Covington writes in the beat tradition of the North American highway.

His latest book, a collection of short fiction, titled North Beach and Other Stories was recently named a 2019 Finalist in LGBTQ Fiction. Follow him @BeatPW