By Joe Engel Seeing your name, Jason, etched in the red brick below me I recall you most in the summer of 1984. You so trustworthy, so good,  I allowed you into our fort, made of branches in a half circle against a fence, like a teepee, to see the collection of magazines my neighbor…

by Joe Engel I’ve heard, one mopping a tile floor can achieve a state of Zen. Wet strokes,  a certain repetition. But in this work my elevation stays tied in the boots on my feet. The words “hurry” and “Zen” only fuse for long distance runners. My awareness is drawn into the air return from…

By Joe Engel I choose an alarm clock to bully my feet to the floor every morning, out of blanket and bed knowing the furless cat in this February. Hurried to hurry in the dark  where the moon hangs orange often to signal any fortune,  before it goes under, any ease in the weather at…

by Joe Engel I turn off the lights in this bedroom to float like a branch. My limbs water-log and I slowly sink. Cars pass outside while drivers glide along the black channels of asphalt, thoughts ushered from point A, to point B, hurried to where they can uncage the poor treatment they received at…

Here is a little poem I wrote about the curiosity I had over a butterfly which appeared one afternoon in the middle of summer, dead, just outside our screen door. Its wings were spread to show its bright pattern. I don’t know how it died, and it led me to wonder about insects dying in…

by Joe Engel Who often had bruises blooming on her her arms, rouge over bruises on her face drives  as though the road grinds through her. Her hair wisps like tail pipe smoke in the open window. The lines on her face ask the highway  to last a whole journey. There was a man  who…

by Joe Engel The streets were lit with the same soft hue as malt liquor, the color of trouble we drank after we swaggered  through the night on skateboards, flaunted tricks formed through endless practice.  We were good enough with the crack of wood and rumble of polyurethane wheels to cheer. On those nights, tricks…

Here is a story about meeting neighbors for the first time. By Joe Engel The rocks embedded in the top step of the porch to my duplex were getting uncomfortable on my ass, and I wanted to make something happen. It was Friday, and my divorce was finalized a few days before. But there was…

Politics and pandemic pried open the cellar door to our country and much of the world in 2020. Many of us were surprised at what we found, and many of us weren’t. This is one of my meditations on those early days when we didn’t know what to expect. by Joe Engel All I hear…

(I would like to say, quickly, that this is a poem I started at a little cafe in Kenosha called “Common Grounds.” It had a great location on Lake Michigan, and was perfect to sit and write. It recently closed and has quickly changed hands. This poem was prompted by what I saw there on…