This Too

A poem by Jeffrey Zable


I felt very sad, and you said, “This too shall pass. . .”

The door opened and someone entered with a child on a leash.
“He is more than a pet,” the person said, “and if you’d like to pet him
it only costs 50 cents.”

I then remembered the time a teacher embarrassed me in class
by calling on me when I wasn’t ready.
“Child,” she said, “if you sailed north on the Pacific would you eventually
wind up in Japan or Elvis Presley’s house in Memphis?”

With nothing left to lose I said I was leaving
and that I was not only going to find a new school and new parents,
but a new and better way of seeing the world.

I said this to anyone who would listen, but as I looked around the room
I saw that everyone was sucking their thumb and rolling their eyes
as if I’d said the dumbest thing they’d ever heard.

I felt very sad, and you said, “This too shall pass. . .”


Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction  have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Some of his recent writings have appeared in Serving House Journal, Mocking Heart ReviewKairos, Third WednesdayFutures Trading, Tower Journal, Jokes Review, and Fear of Monkeys, among others.
Advertisements

The Result

A poem by Jeffrey Zable


When I checked into my room on the 32nd floor I had a view
of the city and what looked like bugs crawling around in search
of food. I stood there on the balcony and masturbated until my semen
went over the edge and landed on the bald head of a woman who had
shaved it in protest of housewives not receiving a living wage for
watching game shows during the day and preparing peanut butter
and jelly sandwiches at night. Unfortunately, when she spotted me,
she took out her one-shot derringer and carefully aimed for my head,
which luckily I had time to cover with the wine bucket at my feet.
But when the bullet hit the metal, it must have ricocheted left and hit
the man on the balcony next to me for when I removed the bucket,
I saw him falling over the edge and land in the hotel swimming pool,
killing three others as a result. . .


Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction  have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Some of his recent writings have appeared in Serving House Journal, Mocking Heart ReviewKairos, Third WednesdayFutures Trading, Tower Journal, Jokes Review, and Fear of Monkeys, among others.

The Understanding

A poem by Jeffrey Zable


I was listening to the swomies in their pajomies
and they all said the same thing: Be here now,
and don’t take anything too seriously except providing us
with necessary cash and some pretty girls on demand.
Nodding like a bobblehead,
I was so glad to come to this understanding:
that the universe makes perfect sense if you just let it be,
and listen to the right people to explain it.
Hopefully I’ll never feel out of place again—
and to that I say, Amen.


Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction  have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Some of his recent writings have appeared in Serving House Journal, Mocking Heart ReviewKairos, Third WednesdayFutures Trading, Tower Journal, Jokes Review, and Fear of Monkeys, among others.

In the Neighborhood

A poem by Jeffrey Zable


I was pissing into the wind when the wind said to me,

“Listen, man, you’re pissing into my only good eye.

If you don’t stop I’ll sue!” To which I responded,

“I’ll counter sue and bring back the great Melvin Belli

to represent me!”

 

And after a considerable pause, I heard from the wind again.

“Now I’m basically blind, and where I blow I’ll never know.

Undoubtedly I’ll create hardship for a multitude of creatures,

and in the end the responsibility will lead back to you!”

 

With that, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

I moved my pecker to the left and pissed on the sun

who expressed how refreshing it felt

given the temperature in the neighborhood.


Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Some of his more recent writing has appeared in Serving House Journal, Sick Lit, Unscooped Bagel, Mocking Heart ReviewKairos, Dead KingInk In Thirds, Tigershark, Weirderary, DOGZPLOT, Vending Machine PressThird Wednesday, The Bookends Review, The Vein, Revolution John, and many other publications.

I Don’t Care Who’s President

A poem by Jeffrey Zable


To be honest with you, I could care less who’s president.

I’ve lived through several, and not one has ever come by

to say hello or written me a note asking how I’m doing.

None have ever mentioned me in their speeches. None have

ever helped me get a job or come to my aid when a supervisor

has unjustly written me up. And none have ever thanked me

for all my years of teaching and community service. I could

care less if a homeless person, a drug addict, or a convicted

murderer was president. What difference does it make,

I ask you my fellow Americans . . .


Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Some of his more recent writing has appeared in Serving House Journal, Sick Lit, Unscooped Bagel, Mocking Heart ReviewKairos, Dead KingInk In Thirds, Tigershark, Weirderary, DOGZPLOT, Vending Machine PressThird Wednesday, The Bookends Review, The Vein, Revolution John, and many other publications.