John Myers

John Myers lives in Tucson. He works with adults living with severe mental illness. His poems have been published in Handsome, Spork, FRiGG, Gigantic Sequins, The Dirty Napkin, ABJECTIVE and other venues. His manuscript Cider Kit was a finalist in Omnidawn’s first book contest. He went to Oberlin and the University of Montana and grew up in the Endless Mountains.

In Issue 2:

A Party Story, No Such Plans, We're Starting, and This Dinner Party
We're Starting'

During warm-ups Kristine comes up to me and asks about the next party.

“Tuesday,” I say, “ Tuesday.”

She nods and stretches her arms. If this is a competition I don’t want anything to do with it. Because I’m wearing gray socks with specks of silver threaded through, that’s why Kristine asks me. She is so jealous today.

“Hey, come on,” says Lane.

Ugh, Lane.

On Tuesday I gather my guacamoles and place them on the party ta-ble. Kristine and her boyfriend arrive.

“Your guacamoles are brown,” Kristine says.

The other guests are arriving. They talk, words pilling on my alpaca sweater. I want Kevin to arrive but he told me he probably wouldn’t come. Mary spills grapefruit sherbet down her top, shrieks. We all go outside onto the wicker porch.

“There’s no good way to get grapefruit out of silk, is there?” Mary is trying to grab at something, here.

“Keep her away from me,” Kristine’s boyfriend screams.

“Why are you screaming?” says Kristine.

Mary’s nowhere near Matt.

If this is a competition, what have we learned? We go back inside to sit on couches. Kristine suggests the Fassbinder.

Kevin shows up when a man in the movie is beating his wife.

“Kevin!” I exclaim.

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