Dover Peach
with a thumb to the nose toward Matthew Arnold and Anthony Hecht

They never told you my name
when they invaded the anthologies.

Doing me such favors, those two:
a weekend trip to the coast,
a bottle of the wrong perfume.
A girl does her best,
but to go down in history invisibly,
without even a name, is too much.

There was never a question
of a fruitful relationship—
and all that complaining

about the world in general
and a few things in particular
war and suffering and all that
as though Matthew thought of them first.

Tony was no better, expecting me
to drop everything and start cooking
when he showed up like a dog on the doorstep
needing my life to juice his own ambition.

The nerve to claim my reality
without asking. You'll be glad to know
I've given up poets to buy
my own ticket, dance my dance,
walk past their erection, a fence

they built themselves. I wrote on it:
For a good time call Matt or Tony

by Sandra Soli

Read more Parody


Sandra Soli, writer/editor in Edmond, Oklahoma, enjoys wordplay and terrible puns. Her poems, articles, and short fiction have appeared widely in journals, humanities magazines, and anthologies that benefit the homeless. Author of two award-winning poetry chapbooks and teaching artist, Sandy survived childhood in a war zone and is completing a poetry collection based on that experience.


Comprehension Beyond Advanced Placement

To go, or not to go—that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The International Baccalaureate
Or to walk away damaged and even insane
And by opposing just live. IAs, EE—
No more—and by IAs to say we need
The struggle, and the thousand criteria
That students must make. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be damned. IAs, EE—
EE—perchance to learn: ay, there's the rub,
For in that laissez faire what stress may come
When we have researched these four thousand words,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of the IB
For who would bear the whips and scorns of it,
Th' knowledge and care, the risks taken plus
The communication, the reflection,
The principles and thinking, inquiry
That open-minded balance might foster,
When they themselves might their loss of life make
With a heavy workload? That’d burdens bear,
To sweat and cry through these weary years,
But that the dread of something afterwards,
The life beyond the IB, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus IB does make fools of students,
And thus the native hue of intelligence
Is paled o'er with the darkness of despair,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this thought their sanity turn awry
And lose the name of smart.—Oh my lord,
The University!—Beautiful, accept me
And make my suff'ring worth it.

*IB = International Baccalaureate
*IA - Internal Assessment
*EE - Extended Essay

by Tylyn K. Johnson

Read more Parody


Tylyn K. Johnson is a socially-conscious writer from Indianapolis, IN. A Dean's Scholar and social work major at UIndy, he's published stories with Severance Publications and the Preservation Foundation. His nonfiction appears in Rigorous Magazine, Indiana Voice Journal, and other publications. Find @TyKyWrites on Twitter, Instagram, and Medium.


Stopping by the Canal on a Hot Afternoon

Whose house is that I do not know.
I pass it when I'm cycling, though;
They will not see me stopping here.
I'll take a piss then on I go.

My little bike must think it queer
To stop without a toilet near
Between my home and sandy beach
The hottest day so far this year.

If my bike could ring its bell
It might do so to raise some hell,
Cause me to dribble on my jeans
Right here in this idyllic dell.

The bushes are lovely and water's flowing
But with people coming I must get going.
They see my bike; their pace is slowing
They'd see my tracks if it were snowing.

by Allan Lake

Read more Parody


Originally from Saskatchewan, Allan Lake has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton Island, Ibiza/Spain, Tasmania, and now calls Melbourne home (with regular retreats to Sicily). He has published two collections: Tasmanian Tiger Breaks Silence (1988) and Sand in the Sole (2014). Lake won Elwood(Aus) Poetry Prize 2016, Lost Tower Publications(UK) Poetry Comp 2017, and Melbourne Spoken Word Poetry Festival Competition 2018. He fears shopping malls and freeways.