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      August 4, 2022Morning at the Elizabeth ArchJoe Weil

      The winos rise as beautiful as deer.
      Look how they stagger from their sleep
      as if the morning were a river
      against which they contend.
      This is not a sentiment
      filled with the disdain
      of human pity.
      They turn in the mind,
      they turn
      beyond the human order.
      One scratches his head and yawns.
      Another rakes a hand
      through slick mats of thinning hair.
      They blink and the street litter moves
      its slow, liturgical way.
      A third falls back
      bracing himself on an arm.
      At river’s edge, the deer stand poised.
      One breaks the spell of his reflection with a hoof
      and, struggling, begins to cross.

      from #28 - Winter 2007

      Joe Weil

      “I’m a fairly good piano player and I fake it on guitar. I play a five string, mostly to incite obsessive-compulsive guitarists to riot. As I’ve told them, you only need three strings to make a chord. When I’m not playing piano or faking it on the guitar, I work as an instructor in the Graduate and Undergraduate Creative Writing program at SUNY, Binghamton. I have one hot chili pepper on rate my professor dot com. Since my mother is dead, I can’t possibly figure out who gave it to me.”

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