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Spring 2015


The Harbor of the World
- O. Arieti
Those Italian Boys
- I. Backalenick
Friendless Featherheads
- G. Beck
- K. Cain
- J. Campbell
King Street Comanche
- B. Foster
- L. Giulianetti
Poets Out of Service
- M. Johnson
Irish Farmer
- L. Kumar
Communion Portrait
- J. Lagier
- M. Lisella
Connemara 2004
- C. Lloyd
Carrying Grandpa
- M. Lyon
The Saying of Mass
- C. Moore
Taking You home
- J. Mulligan
- P. Murray
- P. Nicholas
Resurrecting Easter Sunday
- L. Pierro
Dublin Spirts
- F. Polizzi
Nun Ponnu/They Cannot
- N. Provenzano
- K. Retzlaff
- C. Steinhoff
Strawberry Pickers, Cyprus
- J. Tarwood
Melina's Tarverna
- B. Thomas
No News
- R. Tremmel
- R. Volz
Broadway Bagel
- C. Wald
Taking My 8-Year-Old Daughter to Hear Seamus Heaney
- L. Wiley
My Mother Had a Relationship with Good Bread
- C. Young
Sicilian Traces
- A. Znaidi

Spring 2015


- J. Amato
Moving Day, 1897
- D. Corrigan
My Madeleine
- F. Dunne
A Review Of Italoamericana: The Literature Of The Great Migration, 1880–1943
- G. Fagiani
The Immigrant's Grandson
- J. Giordano
Review of The Glass Ships
- R. Crupi Holz
A Sunday Afternoon
- R. Iulo
Dark Idyll
- T. Sanfilip
The Choir Book
- G. Sullivan
Review of My Two Italies
- T. Zeppetella

Featured Artist
Richard Holz



Michael Lee Johnson

Poets Out of Service


Like a full service gas station

or postal service workers,

displaced, racing to Staples retail

for employment against the rule of labor,

poets are out of business nowadays.

Who carries change in their pockets?

Who tosses loose coins in their car ashtray anymore?

iPhones, Smartphones, life is cam ready to shoot, destroy.

No one reads poets anymore. 

No one thumbs through yellow pages anymore.

Who has sex in the back seat of their car anymore, just naked shots online?

Streetwalkers, cosmetic, bleach blonde whores,

plastic altered faces in neon night,

don’t bother to pick pennies or quarters off the street anymore.

The days of nickel bag of candy, pennies lying on the counter top –

for Tar Babies, String licorice, Wax Lips,

Pixie Sticks, Good & Plenty, no more.

Everyone is a stop end player in time.

Monster technology destroys culture fragments, efforts in mindlessness.

Old age is a passive slut, conversations distilled, serrated

measurements by number of slim toothpicks,

matchbooks of many colors vanished.

Time is a broken stopwatch gone by.

Life is a defunct full service gas station.

Poets are out of business.