to love me like how you love your
cheap hmart wine, to sentimentally sip
at me until you are tipsy and having a
good time; and if i have nothing more to
give, set my empty self on a distant shelf—
forever is a paradise, even if to only ever
hear your laughter from the sidelines

i wanted to write like josé olivarez,
to love, plain and simple, and to let
the light in, shamelessly, for all to see

but she wanted a t.s. eliot, maybe a surrealist
portrait, or a picasso to my pissarro, and a tiptoe
around the elephants, for a look into me, endlessly

as if always in search of some deeper, divine meaning,
we parted our ways, but now i no longer feel like me
i have lost my rhythm, though i have not stopped reading

i fall into ignorance; i am called out for perfunctories; so
other than a casual fear of forevers, i now also know: my love
tastes like cheap prose, and an atrophied fondness of writing

"Life is cheap,"
Said strong to weak.
"Wrong is right,"
Spoke rich to meek.
"Do none, hear none - nor speak, or see."
Evil said to divinity.
And we wonder why, when then
We do speak, that
No one seems to be listening.

you lie like a cheap rug, but I fill in the blanks for my own peace
you are just an actor, I am directing the scenes
you are not as powerful as you seem
all my power is found in the in-betweens
the venom rumors, toxic to your reputation
with all my information like a computer
are you sure you want to test me?

its all franchises
as far as you might see
burger joints, taco houses, and pizza parlors
dot the horizon

the whole lot
greasier than the pan
than the canola oil, a whole can of pam

its warehouse-sized stores
full of disgruntled
shuffling cheap trash
package to shelf
packaged for the shelf
in anticipation to sit

listen a while
under the low murmur
of the machine humming
you can hear ma n pop wailin'

People have a lot in common with coffee
Some of us are sweeter than others
Some of us taste of spice
Some of us are black
Some of us are brown
Some have too much milk and turn out white
Some of us are cheap
Some of us are not
Some of us are free
Some of us are not
We all came from different places
We all have different names
Americano, cappuccino, caramel latte
But as we all gather in this coffee shop
Only one thing is true
Coffee is coffee
What you make yourself is up to you

The straw that broke the camel’s back
A straw quite ordinary
Its weight did not mean very much
Not challenging to carry

But even though this measly straw
Was worthless on its own
It had a value and a strength
That was only timely shown

The straw itself, pretentious not
Had knowledge of its role
Quite useless was it by itself
This it could not control

But when it was allowed to be
A part of bale or heap
Its value all at once appeared
To be no longer cheap

And so one day to its surprise
It really didn’t know
It was the one who did the trick
Before anyone could say ’**!’

Wendy Nipas