Irene Cooper
but who now will deliver the weather report

david lynch said it’s a great time to be
alive if you love the theatre of the absurd
for seven straight years at two thirty pm
he ordered a cup a coffee
and a chocolate shake at bob’s big boy
whose three dimensional logo sported
a similar bouffant to lynch’s own
in an interview on a pbs talk show
with a disgraced host lynch talked
about routine, how a regular dinner
of broccoli and chicken gave his imagination
a foundation to create
i read a story in which lynch met a kid
on his girlfriend’s front lawn
whose father was a professional artist
and that was that, once he understood
that one could choose, he never looked back
today I imagined that i could live
a life without undue attention to capitalism
i’d just collect my check, pay my taxes
and that would be that
i’d live an unironic life, loving the bluebird
and the pie, a cup of coffee and a cigarette
this being a free country
this being a free country

Irene Cooper wrote the feminist noir novel Found; Committal, poet-friendly spy-fy about family; spare change:poems, finalist for the 2022 Stafford/Hall award; and even my dreams are over the constant state of anxiety: poems. Writings appear in Beloit Poetry, Denver Quarterly, The Rumpus, Witness, Bear Review, and elsewhere. Irene works and lives with her people and Roxy in the middle of Oregon.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series as a creative response to the threat posed to our democracy by the current presidential administration. The plan is to continue for all 1460 days of the 47th American presidency.

Find out how to submit poems or flash prose pieces to Second Coming.

Dion O’Reilly
Thinning of the Veil

5 November 2024, Bellingham WA

I love how quiet
the town, how mute
from low-pressed clouds,
the seep of rain.

I want an animal
coat to keep me
warm, to skirt shadow
by the waterfront, slow

barges creeping like
slugs on stainless water.

I want coverlet clouds
to lift for a second,
the slow sun hurting
my worm-white skin.

Now is the time
for the line between
dead and suffering
to shimmer and deplete,

for a million imperatives
to speak in the stripped-down trees:

Listen. Look. Drink. Take.

Some hate the darkness
when it o’ersways,
when it enters
our kingdom like liquor

from forgotten bottles,
the singing and stinging,
rush, at dusk—
a cauldron

of flying things
stirred and thrown
into the darkening sky.

Dion O’Reilly is the author of three poetry collections: Sadness of the Apex Predator, a finalist for the Steel Toe Book Prize and the Ex Ophidia Prize; Ghost Dogs, winner of The Independent Press Award for Poetry, Honorable Mention for the Eric Hoffer Poetry Award, and runner-up for the Catamaran Poetry Prize. Her third book, Limerence, was a finalist for the John Pierce Chapbook Competition and is forthcoming from Floating Bridge Press. Her work appears in Cincinnati Review, Chicago Quarterly Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, The Sun, and Rattle. She is a podcaster, leads poetry workshops, and is starting a new poetry journal about alterity. She splits her time between a ranch in the Santa Cruz Mountains and a residence in Bellingham, Washington.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series as a creative response to the threat posed to our democracy by the current presidential administration. The plan is to continue for all 1460 days of the 47th American presidency.

Find out how to submit poems or flash prose pieces to Second Coming.

Timothy Liu
About Last Night

It’s true. Half of America
got what they wanted

but is it true we all got

what we deserved?
Who pays two dollars

a can for cat food when

you can pay twice more
if you’re willing to wait

long enough? I too

liked your fetus better
when you wore it on

the inside of your sleeve

like a shiny bauble
not ready to be shown

to the world—its secret

gestation waiting to go
all out. Now that we’re here,

what’s next? Whenever

I see two crows lodged
in the swaying crown

of a pine, I look around

for a third in the way
I was taught in school—

how they’re better able

to look out for each other
that way. Remember

the day you woke up

only to find God hitting
your doorstep with a thud

like a newspaper you knew

you weren’t going to read
anymore? Today feels

like that kind of day

only now I have all the time
in the world to circle

back in my dark cloak

of feathers in the sun,
even let out a wicked caw

or croak depending on

my mood! I bet you wish
you could be like me

all high and mighty

without a care in the world
how things will turn out

the next thousand years—

Timothy Liu (Liu Ti Mo) was born in 1965 in San Jose, California to immigrant parents from Mainland China. He is the author of twelve books of poems, including Of Thee I Sing, selected by Publishers Weekly as a 2004 Book-of-the-Year; Say Goodnight, a 1998 PEN Open Book Margins Award; and Vox Angelica, which won the 1992 Poetry Society of America’s Norma Farber First Book Award. He has also edited Word of Mouth: An Anthology of Gay American Poetry. Liu’s poems have appeared in Best American Poetry, Bomb, Kenyon Review, The Nation, Paris Review, Ploughshares, Poetry, The Pushcart Prize, Virginia Quarterly Review and The Yale Review, among other journals and anthologies His journals and papers are archived in the Berg Collection at the New York Public Library. He teaches at SUNY New Paltz and Vassar College.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series in creative response to the threat posed to our democracy by the incoming presidential administration. The plan is to continue for all 1460 days of the 47th American presidency.

Find out how to submit poems or flash prose pieces to Second Coming.

Jesse Bradley-Amore
To the voters who treat voting like deepthroating a shotgun that they hope is empty

You don’t care
as long you can celebrate
the wreckage of your choices,
pick your teeth with the splinters, 
get tipsy on tears that aren’t yours. 
 
What you forget is
nothing will get better
until you have enough money
to get the right people to listen. 
But even then, you’ll pull

Up the ladder. Even then,
you’ll tell people: I did this
all by myself. But you’re wrong. 
It takes a village
to burn itself down

Jesse Bradley-Amore is a writer, cartoonist, and (occasional) improviser based out of Winter Park, FL. His stories have been featured on RISK! and The Volume Knob. His comics have been published in Oyez Review and Action, Spectacle. Under his J. Bradley pen name, he’s the author of Teenage Wasteland: An American Love Story and has fiction in Short Edition dispensers. His solo show, How I Learned (NOT) To Drive, is set to debut this year at various festivals throughout the country.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series in creative response to the threat posed to our democracy by the incoming presidential administration. The plan is to continue for all 1460 days of the 47th American presidency.

Find out how to submit poems or flash prose pieces to Second Coming.

Day Merrill
Inaugural Forecast: Irony With a Chance of Fascism

January in DC is a crap-shoot.
Of course, the inauguration wasn’t always on January 20th
and it wasn’t always Washington.

Washington (the Pres, not the city) took his first oath on April 30th on the steps of Federal Hall
in lower Manhattan, destined to become the financial center of the world.
Start off as you mean to go on, America.

By his second term, Congress had moved the venue to Philly
and set March 4th (march forth!) as the date. Unless it fell on a Sunday,
because like remembering the Sabbath and everything.

Presidents need time between election and inauguration to
organize their cabinet (toss names into a junk drawer)
and make plans for their so-called government.

By 1932, it was clear that March 4th was too darn much time,
hindering the incoming guy from addressing urgent national problems
like the Great Depression then or where to put Musk now.

So January 20th it is. Unless it falls on a Sunday (still the Sabbath thing?)
with a private swearing in then and the hoopla pushed to Monday.
It’s happened a few times.

Obama holds the record for taking the oath of office.
Head Supreme John Roberts flubbed his first Sunday swearing in
and asked for a do-over “out of an abundance of caution.”

The next day, the public show, with two Bibles (an abundance of caution?),
one Lincoln used when travelling and the other from the King family. Must have worked—
four years later, another private Sunday, then again on Monday, Martin Luther King Day.

Sometimes the inaugural weather gets as much attention as the ceremony.

Two-faced Ronald Reagan was sworn in on both the warmest and coldest Jan. 20s,
Tough guy William Henry Harrison refused to wear a hat and coat while delivering his
nearly two-hour inaugural address. No wonder he got pneumonia, dying a month later.

“The worst weather on the face of the Earth,”
said a congressman about the blowing snow and freezing temperatures
that pummeled the inauguration of William Howard Taft in 1909.

This year, messy snow predicted for Sunday, 23 degrees with brutal wind chills Monday
as the indefatigable DJT takes office on MLK Day.
He might have preferred April 20th, but here we are.

Snow, wind, bitter cold, hail to the chief.

Day Merrill’s poems have appeared in The Binnacle, Halcyon Magazine, HIV Here & Now, Poems in the Aftermath, What Rough Beast, The Journal of Contemporary Rural Social Work, Tin Roof Press and Quick Brown Fox, among others, as well as in the Collingwood Public Library Writers Group anthology Musings. After a career as an English teacher and a university administrator, she became a career coach. Raised in New England and a former long-time resident of New York City, Merrill now splits her time between Ontario and Costa Rica.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series in creative response to the threat posed to our democracy by the incoming presidential administration. The plan is to continue for all 1460 days of the 47th American presidency.

Find out how to submit poems or flash prose pieces to Second Coming.

Kristy Snedden
Birds of America

Never so ferocious
were the silver bullet outcomes
after the 2024 election.
Silver-tipped words, silver-tipped birds.
Fellow vultures and cranes,
with silver-sheened wings, I’m sorry.
I forgot, I let you down, I meant to,
I meant to be a Northern Goshawk
but I slipped into an inky field of stars.
The woods are full of deer
and a bear next to the pond
where warblers hang on branches,
yellow heads and silver wings
statues in the water’s reflection.
If you came calling with your guns tonight,
I would hold you from afar
hold you in wing-shimmer.
Even Christ would pause here
but you are speeding on the highway
headed somewhere I don’t live.

Kristy Snedden is a trauma psychotherapist. Her poetry has appeared most recently in Contemporary Verse 2 and storySouth. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Kristy runs Brainspotting Through the Poet’s Eye groups to deepen healing with poetry and Brainspotting. Her debut full-length poetry collection is forthcoming from Indolent Books. She loves hiking in the Appalachian Mountains near her home in Georgia and listening to her husband and their dogs tell tall tales.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series as a creative response to the threat posed to our democracy by the second Trump administration. The series is currently counting down the last five days before Inauguration Day and will enter a new phase tomorrow with a poem for Day 1. The current plan is to continue for all 1461 days of the 47th presidential administration of the United States of America.

Find out how to submit poems or flash prose pieces to Second Coming.

Cornelius Eady
Withstand

What can you withstand, now?
What can you withstand?
All the fights they taught were right
Is shifting through your hands

All the birds exiled in the sky
Got no place to land.
What can you withstand, now?
What can you withstand?

The weathers trying to change
Your clothes,
A stale wind covers the land
Thunder rolls like an exit poll
Like some mad judge’s hand.

The ground beneath your feet
Is turning into sand
And it ain’t who’s gonna win
Or lose,
It’s what you can stand.

What can you withstand, now,
What can you withstand?
All the fights they taught were right
Are shifting through your hands

All the birds exiled in the sky
Got no place to land
What can you withstand, now
What can you withstand?

The weathers trying to change
Your mind,
Seems you made a mistake;
You thought you’d been
A citizen,
But now they claim you’re
A fake.

The ground beneath your feet
Is shifting into sand
And it ain’t who’s gonna
Rescue you,
It’s what you can stand.

What can you withstand, now,
What can you withstand?
All the fights you thought were right
Are shifting through your hands

All the birds exiled in the sky
Got no place to land.
What can you withstand, now,
What can you withstand?

CE: Words, music, and vocals
Charlie Rauh: Acoustic guitar
Lisa Liu: Piano
Tracks recored by Eady, Rauh & Liu
Arranged and mixed by Rauh & Liu
Mastered by Charlie Rauh

Poet/Playwright/Songwriter and Cave Canem Co-Founder Cornelius Eady was born in Rochester, NY in 1954, and is Professor of English, and John C. Hodges Chair of Excellence at the University of Tenn. Knoxville. In addition to his teaching duties at UT, from 2021-2022 he served as interim director at Poets House, a poetry library and cultural center located in New York City. He is the author of several poetry collections, including Victims of the Latest Dance Craze, winner of the 1985 Lamont Prize; The Gathering of My Name, nominated for the 1992 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry; Brutal Imagination, and Hardheaded Weather. He wrote the libretto to Diedra Murray’s opera Running Man, a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in Theatre in 1999, and his verse play Brutal Imagination won the Oppenheimer Prize in 2001. Eady’s pandemic folk song project Don’t Get Dead, recorded with his Trio, was released in 2021 by June Appal Recording. His work and songs has been featured on NPR, BBC Radio 4 and the PBS Newshour. His awards include fellowships from the NEA, the Guggenheim Foundation and the Rockefeller Foundation, and Lifetime Achievement Awards in Poetry from The Poetry Foundation, The National Book Foundation, Brooklyn Poets, Poets and Writers Foundation, Furious Flower Foundation and the Lannan Foundation.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series to help us process the renewed autocratic attack on our democracy. The series is currently counting down the last five days before Inauguration Day, then the count will resume with poem #1 and keep going as long as our democratic republic remains at risk, or until we end up in a gulag, whichever comes first.

Michael Broder
Freedom Is a Choice

I am with you with him with her
neither do I judge nor condone all deeds
I am with myself and for myself
nor am I sufficient or commensurate to my need
I am with food against hunger but hunger is desire
which engine drives us toward pleasure and the good
I am with a tunic against the burning sun
albeit the sun is heat and light and betimes the eye of God
I am with boots against the rocky path but rock’s the earth
beneath our feet and no way home without a path
I am with blanket against cold but the cold refreshes and quickens me
I am with shelter against rain and light against dark
tho rain is life and I am with the dark when I choose darkness
I am with breath but your choking grip thrills me
I am with truth against lies but tell me you will love me always
I am with beauty but let me grow ugly and old
with so much the greater pleasure to recall my comely youth
I am with wealth as the riches of the earth
for the benefit of livingkind for art for science
I am with power to do well good and right withal
I am with pleasure as a current electric
through mind body and spirit incandescing
I am with gratitude for all kindness bestowed
by god creature land sea or air
I am with air

This poem originally appeared in the Black Earth Institute’s 30 Days Hath September 2016 (Day 20). selected by Patricia Spears Jones. 

Michael Broder is the author of the poetry collections Drug and Disease Free (Indolent Books, 2016) and This Life Now (A Midsummer Night’s Press, 2014), a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award for Gay Poetry. His poems have appeared most recently in Cimarron Review, 2 Horatio, Word for Word, Right Hand Pointing, and One Sentence Poem. Michael is the founding publisher of Indolent Books, a boutique indie press that focuses on innovative, provocative, and risky work by writers over 50 without a first book, women, people of color, and queer writers. He lives in Brooklyn with Justin, the last of his outside feral feline Mohicans.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series to help us process the emerging neofascist autocracy. The series is currently counting down the last five days before Inauguration Day, then the count will resume with poem #1 and keep going until the republic is restored. Or until Greenland conquers us. Whichever comes first. Back soon with info on how to submit.

Day Merrill
Pajama Day—September 27, 2018

On the occasion of the Senate confirmation hearing of Brett Kavanaugh as nominee for Supreme Court Justice

Pajamas are the refuge of girls and women.
We stay in them to ride out a snow day or cramps,
we curl up in them to read alone and wear them to sleepovers.
They are our safety blanket.
They remind us of childhood and innocence,
what we put on after a hot bath,
basketball practice,
a debate team victory.

Pajamas are the great leveler.
Whatever we wear during the day—
the business suit with killer heels,
the school uniform with the skirt rolled up,
the scrubs under the white coat that bestows legitimacy—
when we come home and get into our PJs,
we are all that teenage girl happy to just be,
without the need to create any impression.

I spent the entire day in my pajamas yesterday,
glued to CNN as the confirmation hearing
raised my hopes, then confirmed my fears.

Advice to all women:
Never forget (or underestimate) how much they hate us.
Our very existence is an insult to the privileged patriarchy
that blusters and blubbers like a thwarted preppie
when we have the audacity to call out their actions and lies
while trying to remain “collegial”
wishing we could be more “helpful”
barely maintaining our shaken composure.

Yesterday was our Kent State—proof we are finally on our own.
Sworn testimony from three women dismissed as untrue or irrelevant
by alpha males who trumpet their support for a sexual predator
like bull elephants protecting a watering hole.
After the hearings ended, I stripped off my pajamas and got dressed,
readying myself for leaving the house to
walk the dog, visit a friend, meet a client,
vote.

Day Merrill’s poems have appeared in The Binnacle, Halcyon Magazine, HIV Here & Now, Poems in the Aftermath, What Rough Beast, The Journal of Contemporary Rural Social Work, Tin Roof Press and Quick Brown Fox, among others, as well as in the Collingwood Public Library Writers Group anthology Musings. After a career as an English teacher and a university administrator, she became a career coach. Raised in New England and a former long-time resident of New York City, Merrill now splits her time between Ontario and Costa Rica.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series to help us process the emerging neofascist autocracy. Initially planned to start on Inauguration Day, things got so…interesting (?) that I could not hold out any longer, and so now we are counting down the days to the inauguration in poems. Back soon with info on how to submit.

Ed Madden
Allegiance

On the occasion of the Hegseth Senate confirmation hearings

Experience and expertise matter less
than loyalty to the would-be autocrat.
Opinions matter more to him than facts.
Forget diplomas, study, steady service,
or years of know-how. Those don’t count
as much as conspiracists, yes-men, or that
kowtowing badge of allegiance, that kakistocratic hat.

Ed Madden is a professor of English and former director of Women’s and Gender Studies at the University of South Carolina. He served as the inaugural poet laureate of Columbia, South Carolina, 2015–2022. He is the author of six books of poetry, most recently A pooka in Arkansas (Word Works, 2023), selected for the Hilary Tham Capital Collection. He is the recipient of an artist’s residency from the Instituto Sacatar in Brazil, a Breakthrough Leadership in Research Award from the University of South Carolina, and a South Carolina Governor’s Award for the Arts.

Indolent Books and editor Michael Broder are back with another poem-a-day series to help us process the emerging neofascist autocracy. Initially planned to start on Inauguration Day, but contributor Ed Madden wrote a very timely poem about the Senate confirmation hearing for Pete Hegseth, the nominee for secretary of defense, and I just could not hold out any longer. Back soon with info on how to submit.