Three Poems


Sara Biggs Chaney

From “Located”

 

taking riot selfies with Gina[1]

 

around 1, behind the H & M,

to send hot Caleb from Chem 6

who texted me a pic of his cousin in a ski mask

on top of what he said was a patrol car

which made Gina laugh all high and fake

like she just had her nipples pinched

by the Wildcats’ shooting guard

but I didn’t want to be a bitch about it

since shit was breaking off and some real douche

next to Gina broke a beer bottle over his head

and she said the glass sliced right through her new tank  

so I said here comes the SWAT let’s take a selfie

and we ran out in the street and showed our teeth

just enough to be cute, but I blinked and

on top of that you couldn’t really see their riot helmets

as the cops lined up behind us like a kick line

at Radio City Music Hall where my grandma took me

every year till she went into assisted living out in Hampstead

so I tagged the photo #missyougramwishyouwerehere

 

 

 

[1] The title is a reference to the “March Madness” riots at the University of Arizona, and the poem is inspired by the photo accompanying the article.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/students-pose-selfies-post-final-4-riot-article-1.1739624

 

 

 

trying to replicate a recipe in Cooking Light

 

minus the jicama, which I replace with banana peppers

per the recommendation of my brother who

in spite of his culinary innovations being roundly rejected persists

via phone and script and app to trumpet the salability 

of cheese flavored beverages, which

due to a lack of time and capital he has yet to present to investors

but once prepared to do so by watching Shark Tank on demand

until the straight talk of Mark Cuban deflated him

like I felt so small after making my first basket and

upon turning to be praised was told “it’s much harder in a real game”

by my brother who now watches the shopping channel instead

because things are tough all round, for everyone.

 

 

 

Hibernophobia

 

South Bend, May 17, 1924

 

 

Uncle Pat told me the story:

How the Irish boys came down 

 

to beat the Kluxers back onto the train.

No one wanted them to do it.

 

Not the fathers on the hill,

the partisan police,

 

the men and girls of Goshen,

Elkhart, Warsaw,

 

with their crisp sheets

and Saturday smiles.

 

They did it anyway.

Mackerel snappers

 

in new shoes,

with knuckles out.

 

Story goes, those bog jumpers

stole a Methodist’s baby,

 

slapped its flushed

flag-loving cheeks.

 About the Writer
Split Lip Press

Sara Biggs Chaney received her Ph.D. in English in 2008 and currently teaches first-year writing in Dartmouth's Institute for Writing and Rhetoric. Sara's poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in RHINO, [PANK], The Dialogist, inter/rupture, Dr. T.J. Eckleburg Review, and other places. You can catch up with Sara at her blog: www.sarabiggschaney.blogspot.com.