August 3-9, 2020: Poetry from Jacqueline Jules and Rey Armenteros

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Jacqueline Jules

Jacqueline Jules is the author of three chapbooks, Field Trip to the Museum (Finishing Line Press), Stronger Than Cleopatra (ELJ Publications), and Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her work has appeared in over 100 publications including Beltway Poetry News, Innisfree Poetry Journal, The Paterson Literary Review, Hospital Drive, andImitation Fruit. She lives in Arlington, Virginia. Visit her online at

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

My Covid-19 Kitchen

Before, when I could walk
into Safeway without a mask and
casually pick from laden shelves,
I never noticed.

How quickly quilted toilet paper
disappears if I tear too many
squares each time.

How just one pump of Softsoap
is enough for the lather I need
to scrub for twenty seconds.

How many cans in my cabinet
past an arbitrary printed date
would have been thrown away
if I’d found them last month.

My freezer gobbles leftovers now,
not the garbage disposal.

Nothing molds in my fridge.

My mother, who arrived
on a boat in 1940 and always
re-used plastic zipper bags,
would finally be happy
with the way I keep
my kitchen.

Rey Armenteros

Rey Armenteros is a Los Angeles-based painter and writer who has had his essays and poetry appear in numerous literary journals and art magazines, including The Nasiona, Lunch Ticket, Umbrella Factory Magazine, and Still Point Arts Quarterly.

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

The Microwave

It was ridiculous.

They burst in and came at the vampire. A great oak table stood between them. A few of them came around the left and one or two around the right.

Commercial. I get a second helping and put it in the microwave. I flip through the channels, looking for anything else. No luck. Later, the vampire is born again, decides not to suck anymore blood. He was a funny, happy creature of the night. Besides, he had a substitute: taking hearts, crushing them, and feeding off their pulp.

In the old days, two holes in the throat of a victim with no blood in its veins was a perfect signature. You figure that now, the remains of a heartless body could be the work of a werewolf, a serial killer, or any other night creature. The problem was the new method was difficult to execute, and the vampire had been going through a dry spell, when I lost interest and finally turned it off