Poetry selection from the 2007 issue
Drunk Dial as the Sun Rises Over an Empty Bottle of Vodka in a Cheap Hotel in Tampa
by Dan Nowak
I wish I could call every woman I know
but I forgot the number
and even part of the message,
but it’s something like I love you
and wish I could be there when you turn into stars,
or maybe it was make you my scar.
but my guide book in rape
cultures tells me I’m being a positive example
of femininity. I dress
like a man, talk with abandon
and kiss like a confused lesbian.
So I’ve misplaced my phone,
that phallus of technology
I think I was supposed to say
but if you get this in April
it makes no money. Where the hell is my wallet?
Now I know
to pay for my messages before dialing.