May 18-24, 2020: Poetry from Dan Hendrickson and Tim Gavin

Dan Hendrickson and Tim Gavin

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Dan Hendrickson

Bio (auto)

Dan Hendrickson is a poet, screenwriter and comic. His friends call him Bodhi…but he doesn’t have any friends. He’s been described, and more than once, as a block of cheese with eyes. All in all, he can’t complain. Visit Dan on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Dan Hendrickson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Rock Paper Scissors

So many clouds
up above. 
One shaped like
a button.
One looks a lot
like a scar.
Another one, a bit,
like a lost javelin.
But most of them seem
like small pieces
of busted
fluorescent glass or
scattered sheep who can’t
get their act together.
Dear God,
my life is a mess.
Maybe tomorrow
it will rain.

Tim Gavin

Bio (auto)

Tim Gavin is an Episcopal priest, serving as head chaplain at The Episcopal Academy. Prolific Press Released his chapbook, Lyrics from the Central Plateau, in November 2018. He is currently developing a manuscript: Divine Property. His poems have appeared in The Anglican Theological Review, Blue Heron Review, Blue Mountain Review, Cape Rock, Cardinal Sins, Chiron Review, The Cresset, Digital Papercut, Evening Street Review, Magma, Poetry Quarterly, Poetry South, Poetry Super Highway and Spectrum. He lives with his wife in Newtown Square.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Tim Gavin and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Divine Property C: Thermos

I remember my father most because of this old thermos
Green and white, dented and aged, rust on the bottom
rim. Wedged beneath his forearm, the one with the tattooed heart
And my mother’s name scripted across a ribbon
Attached by an arrow, it revealed his power and the work
He did on the docks along the Delaware River,
Loading barges and tankers bound for another world.
The instant coffee it carried made it through lunch
And then the brandy and cigarettes would take him
Into another domain of terror where inner turmoil
Would turn wolf and he condemned the union
For selling out and management for eating too much
Fat and for the workers who were stupid sheep
Willing to get fucked over for a 19-cent hourly increase
After losing three months-worth of wages
And the stupid sheep were convinced they won.

Divine Property CII: Ordinary Time

After ascending the steps from the basement
With a bloody rag soaking blood from my
Nose and my brother following me up the steps
With the furnace blasting and his ears still ringing
From when I banged his head into the corner
Of the antique storage bin, holding decorations
For the different seasons when we would
Grow with excitement of good times
Only to be blinded by the visit of a drunk
Neighbor who wanted to fight my father,
Thinking he could take him this time
To prove the last beating at the bar was a fluke
Only for my father to knock him off
The porch with a knee to the crotch,
Telling him, “Go home and sleep it off
Before I really get pissed.” Then he
Turned toward my brother and me
During this ordinary time between
The excitement of one holiday
And another, leaving the raging
Heat roar in the depths
Of the basement, shook his head
And descended into the darkness.