Poetry selection from the 2010 issue
Send me Saint Sebastian,
stuck through with all those arrows,
speared, spitted, skewered. Saint Bull’s-eye.
This guy could take it. No bullet to bite,
no blindfold, no whining. Oh patron saint
of pincushions and porcupines,
oh saintly sieve, oh holiest of men,
oh stickler for God’s truth, you who healed
and headed back for more, pray for us.