Two Poems from Your Editor, A.J. Huffman

The Squirrel

that lives in our backyard has an attitude

problem, it does not seem to understand

that I paid for my dogs to have the right to run,

to roam, to play in the fenced-in expanse

above which it has built its home.  Every morning

it streaks for the tree or fence, barely escaping

tiny teeth that may or may not think this is all

just a game.  Then it chitters down its tireless tirade

of disgust at them, rapidly pacing branch or beam.

I used to feel sorry for it, for its lack of understanding

of property rights, mortgage claims, eminent domain.

I used to feel sorry for it, until it dropped an acorn

on my head.  I swear I heard it laugh.

My Brain Delivered

the right thought at the right moment.

Just dropped it right in the appropriated

slot, all sealed and stamped in pristine

white #10 envelope.  It never waivered.

Honored soldier weathered elemental

slices of synthesized digital snow, rain,

and heat to land smack

dab in the gloom of my nightly

tirade.   It came out on the other

side, anointed in valored grace at having

sated appointed need with non-regurgitated

words that flew on cohesive wing, to raise

ballad of hope that consciousness still held

breath, somewhere in the cavernous alcoves

behind the blue-dyed madness of my eyes.

A.J. Huffman has published seven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses.  She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and the winner of the 2012 Promise of Light Haiku Contest.  Her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation.  She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.  www.kindofahurricanepress.com