Mother of Dog

Grace Anne Culhane

Dog vomited on the couch last night, Making the move to eat it back up but caught by me instead. Big brown eyes and shaking. (Caught in the act, caught in full vomitus fight.) That couch is never going to last the lifespan of Dog. There is nothing as pathetic as a it tries to eat back sick. Sniffng mush as if manna, some self-made miracle choke it down as if foreign to its own clammy, panting mouth, gaping, it, savours it, swallows it.

Making a holy show. (Bad dog) (David versus Goliath) Myself versus Dog in the epic battle of trying not to eat sick, (which side are you on?)

I don’t know why skin is crawling at the thought. Rather cyclical (From dog vomit and to dog shit You shall return.)

It wasn’t sorry until I saw him.

I wasn’t sorry until I saw him. Head bowed as if in prayer (faced with me, I am his Almighty) And now I am playing God, (Dog)

Cleaning up sick he is giving me the “mom I threw up eyes” (Bless my father for I have sinned).

I am my dog’s keeper, what would he do without me? What would he do?

What the rest of us do and get sick, quietly (along the darkened rows, kneeling, heads down), on the way home.

He would get kicked out of clubs and grip the edge of the bus seat

(Text BIBLE to 50404)

Tail be -tween his legs, praying Dog playing God, what has he done this time?

He would keep himself on a tighter leash

He would sit on couches and hold it in (“O sinner be not discouraged”)

Hold back and bear down. (“Mary, Mother of Jesus please be a mother to me now”)

Birthing a new kind of animal, a newly caged beast

You can’t teach an old dog new tricks

He can’t teach me how to get sick.

Same River Twice

Alex Mountfield

good bye — for everything: red-dyed agricultural fuel adulterative, all-loving nailed to the sky perching on the power wires hanging out to dry all the men of my life holding hands singing the chorus

— don’t bore us

— get to the chorus some denature in the alcohol some methyl in the spirit stroking, a dry clot, like thin bridges between beloved others a quiet class war leave every bridge unburned beloved others for everything for everything oh darling i dnt know why it’s called an irish exit literally just ur leaving lady not gna see u at the function may be not gna o kay see u later baby oh darling i goodbye darling good bye

Inés Murray Gómez

“I never smoke unless I’m drunk, you know? It’s gross to me, but I’ll have one if I’m drunk enough”, one of the girls across the room was saying. She was playing with her straw. I watched her swirl it in her untouched drink, dreading and hoping for her to knock one of the ice cubes out of it. “I keep telling him he should quit, it’s so gross,” she was swirling it faster with every lap. I was sat leaning forward on my chair, my hands gripping the seat by my thighs. I kept on watching her, my thumbs had started rubbing the seat as if on their own and my knuckles got white from holding on to it. The straw went round and round and faster and faster. The liquid had started to swirl in the glass, forming a small whirlpool with the ice cubes spinning in the middle. “And it’s so annoying when he has to go smoke outside!”, her wrist jerked suddenly. My hands gripped the seat harder, I ft the edge of it in the fold where my palm meets my fngers and pushed on the hard plastic as hard as I could without hurting myself. “I really wish he would just-”, one of the ice cubes clinked against the glass and some of the drink splashed out onto the hand that held it. When she felt it, the girl’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, but no noise ever came. I stretched my fngers forward, keeping the palms on the seat, and then gripped it again. I looked down at my plate for a moment, and the chicken bones were still as clean as I had left them. When I looked back up, the girl was looking for something on the table in front of her. Her neighbour on the right side, whom she had been talking to, didn’t seem to have noticed she’d ever stopped. He was a young man, strawberry blond and oddly thin, staring vacantly in her direction. Though he was not unattractive, he had that odd facial angularity that men here often have. As if his bones had grown much quicker than his fesh, and I wondered if it would soften with age or if any weight he put on would only ever go to his belly.

Lauren was asking me about the food, if I liked it. I said something and I’m not sure if she heard, but then she broke into a tangent about an essay that was due soon for one of her modules. She split her time between looking at me and at her boyfriend sat by her side, whose name is either Ronan or Ryan. Her voice was oddly high pitched like she was tense, and I couldn’t quite make myself pay attention to her words. I looked at her and smiled and nodded when I thought it made sense to, but she seemed more interested in talking to Ronan/Ryan and I got the feeling that she was only including me in the conversation because I looked awkward or something. I looked down at my plate and saw by the chicken bones the leftovers of the shrimp pasta that one of Lauren’s roommates had prepared and that I’d only tried to be polite. I never liked seafood. I kept on looking at the odd twisted bodies of the shrimp and it freaked me out that they looked almost foetal. Suddenly I could feel my breathing getting diffcult, I knew it was nothing but I couldn’t help myself. I was checking my face out in the refection of the knife laying on the plate but I wasn't red or swelling or anything. I looked up then and the blond guy’s face was turning away from my direction to look at his plate. I was embarrassed that he’d probably seen me stick my tongue out to check if it was swelling so I looked back down to check if I was blushing. Then I let go of the chair and looked at Lauren who was talking to Ronan/Ryan and told her that I needed to go outside for a smoke, she glanced at me still half smiling from what she was saying and told me to just text her when I needed to be let back in.

I walked down the fve fights of stairs and out of the front gates and was suddenly met with the strawberry blond guy already smoking on the wall that enclosed the front garden area. I stopped as I saw him and considered going back in. I was holding the box of cigarettes in my hand and pressing on the edge and then he turned around and saw me. He got up and waved me over to him. I went over to him and sat on the stoop like he signalled. “What are you smoking?”, he asked. “Benson, my friend gave them to me”, I felt the need to explain. “What are they like?”, he asked. I held up the burning cigarette in my hand to him and he waved it away. “No, sorry. I can’t share if you ate the salad, I’m allergic to peanuts”. I put the cigarette back in my mouth and looked away from him, I was still pressing the cigarette box into my right hand. “My brother was allergic to peanuts”, I said. “When I was ffteen he-” A loud shout came from the door of the pub across the street. A big guy in an apron was pushing two young men away from the pub door. “Come on lads! That’s enough!” They were stuck together, the one closest almost concealed the other with his large body. They were twisting around in odd jerky circles, an awkward pair of dancers. I Hadn’t noticed the blond guy get up until he called to me. “Let's get out of here.” I gripped the cigarette box tighter, and stood up. I felt burning, my left hand jerked forward. I watched the flter fall still burning red as the young men toppled over into the pavement, still stuck together in their strange embrace.