Tag: Zach Fishel

Horsetails The cirrus above were horsetails running from the smoke stacks as we latched flaps and buckled coats, holding out for incredible thunderings, standing long as the mud of the dirty Susquehanna where girls lose virginity to four wheel drives and lift kits. We go on working despite our Sunday ghosts and rotisserie traditions. Here mothers use food stamps for cigarettes and children learn to talk to rabbits or fall asleep to infomercials. Parades drum on to resemble community but the trailer parks know better, sharing lovers and thirty packs, having yard sales for angry fixes while school boys are mauled in saw mills and two keg bars. ______________________________________________ Zach Fishel‘s second chapbook, Thorn Bushes and Fishhooks, will appear from NightBallet Press this fall. His poetry has twice been nominated for the Pushcart, and at present he teaches environmentalism in New England.