ISSUE ONE: Trams Yell Yes! | next poem →

This Is Not A Poem About Fast Food

Erin Dorney

From the drive-thru window I watch a midnight worker, imagine reaching through to grab the pot of coffee next to the ice cream machine and smash it to the ground like a hot black bomb. The surveillance camera guilts me and I'm so ashamed that when he hands me my milkshake with fries I let our hands touch so he knows that in between the salt and the mops and the 24-hours of operation the world is more than a paper landscape burning.

On the ride home I cry for the first time in a year. That night I dream that my body is chicken being eaten—first my breast, then my elbows, then the soft spot behind my wrist where I can still feel the stroke of your fingers.

Erin Dorney lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. You can learn more about her at or follow her on Twitter at @edorney. Her work has appeared in The Pinch Literary Journal, Birdfeast Magazine, Rufous City Review, The Found Poetry Review, and elsewhere.

ISSUE ONE: Trams Yell Yes! | next poem →

ISSUE ONE: Trams Yell Yes!

Craig Kurtz
    Index Denied
    Reinvestment Order

Erin Dorney
    This Is Not A Poem About
       Fast Food


Rose Swartz

Tim Kahl
    Plasma Globe

Alison McCabe
    I Watch Myself Loop

Dan Boehl
   excerpts from whatever
       from @emoemoji

Vanessa Couto Johnson

Valentina Cano
    Planned Remodeling

Ryan Napier
    Seasonal Affective Disorder

Terry Wolverton
    Sizzle and Chew

Gregory Crosby
    Satan's Skull Glows White Hot

Lea Galanter
    When Lost in the Woods

Jake Sheff
    Stasis in Ragtime

Angelica Poversky

Mercedes Lawry
    In Late November, There Are
       Days of False Clemency