Our ayatollah looks at me with contempt
He put me in charge of stoning
an adulteress

I found a good wall to set her against
but I’d forgotten to see to the stones
Someone had come and taken them to repair the wall
that surrounds his olive grove

So there we were
all ready to execute her
and no stones

The ayatollah looked like he wanted to
beat me to death
with his bare fists
but he was old and frail

Instead he exiled me
and the harlot too
The villagers took hold of our arms
and legs
and tossed us out the village gate
slammed it shut behind us

We looked out at the desert
turned and looked at each other

Inky Interview: Author Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois from Denver, Colorado

Flash In The Pantry: Serotonin Reuptake by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Mandela Warp: A Moment in History by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Cooking Shows by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Still Wet by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Loch by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Photogenic by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Microwave by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Granite by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Trick by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Coal by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Poetry Slam by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

A box of old record albums –
Billy Joel,
Donny Osmond,
The Eagles,
Partridge Family –
ugh.

And the covers are worn,
the vinyl is scratched –
no one’s going to buy these
even at 50c apiece.

Same as that ratty Cabbage Patch doll.
Or the Miami Vice lunch box.
Or those clothes – so 80’s.
And the invisible dog – please.

No wonder there’s been no sales.

This is your past.
The present’s not buying it.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in the Roanoke Review, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.

Inky Interview Special: John Grey, Australian Poet, USA resident

Poetry Drawer: An Awkward Meeting in a Coffee House by John Grey

Poetry Drawer: Two Poems by John Grey

Play no sad songs for me.
I’ve lived for the last moment.
It’s been gone and come again
And yet, you come to me
A little too late for a love campaign.
When do we love tomorrow?

The sound of an orphan saxophone
Argues with the early marsh morning.
“Go away with more than a kiss.”
Select your argument with the insane.

If you cannot respect a sole dancer
Then know the words to the song.
So many of the poor, cold pretenders
In habit the hour against the minute.
Do not seek quiet bashful advice.

In an explosion second of sunrise
The drunken sincere pale graduate
Offers you the scent of dew lilacs.
Resurrect the final lost late movie
As you imagined the fast hot dialogue
And encompass the dual possibility.

If the satin mistake is of the desperate
Then you will hear it repeated in radio popularity.
To pretend is a stubborn, stale reflex
That is suddenly discovered as an ash cigarette
Gone like the push button radio disc jockey.

With a flick of a smile
Tossed like a fifty dollar littering fine
In the caution lane of a super highway
I’ve seen the wrong side of a summer full moon
And the high tide has pulled the depth
So that I find one last jukebox dollar
And taste the after hour bitter liquid
In the reflection of your
So often visited …once in a lifetime
Terminal memory.

R. Gerry Fabian is a retired English instructor. He has been publishing poetry since 1972 in various poetry magazines. He is the editor of Raw Dog Press. He has published two poetry books, Parallels and Coming Out Of The Atlantic. His novels, Memphis Masquerade, Getting Lucky (The Story) and Seventh Sense are available from Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes and Noble. He is currently working on his fourth novel, Ghost Girl.

settling in for a quick one:
evening,
and the sun is coming down
with the birds flapping to roost,
heads underwing
and feet
sunk into bellies like
water in a sponge.
and we are having drinks together,
eating
fried and salted
whitebait
(6 for 2 euros, dip on the side)
and we are happy.
your perfume smells
like flowers and strawberries
and your heart goes
like a little drum.
I can hear it from here,
tapping a rhythm
like an impatient man
with a coin at a shop counter.
sweet little heart
spilling with love,
happy
and swooping with the sunset.

D.S. Maolalai is a graduate of English Literature from Trinity College in Dublin and has been nominated for Best of the Web, and twice for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019).