April 6-12, 2020: Poetry from Jorge Alberto Giallorenzi and Eric Evans

Jorge Alberto Giallorenzi and Eric Evans

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Jorge Alberto Giallorenzi

Bio (auto)

Jorge Alberto Giallorenzi has lived in Chivilcoy, Buenos Aires province, Argentina since the end of 2016. He is a photographer, architect, poet, Haijin.
and teabag collector. He is also a student of the language and culture of Japan. His books inclued “Haiku Platelets” (with Julia Guzman), “Aniko and Akiro Haiku” (Also with Julia Guzman), and “Ferns in the Cornice Haikus Chivilcoyanos.”

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



social isolation-
the yellow leaves
in a new book



Eric Evans

Bio (auto)

Eric Evans is a writer and theatre artist from Buffalo, New York with stops in Portland, Oregon and Rochester, New York where he currently resides with his wife, Kathy. His work has appeared in 1947, Parody, Steel Bellow, Decades Review, Dead Snakes, decomP magazinE, Red River Review, Posey, Xenith Magazine, Anobium Literary Magazine, Pemmican Press, Remark and many other publications and anthologies. He has published eight full collections and three broadsides through his own small press, Ink Publications, in addition to a broadside through Lucid Moon Press. He is also the co-editor of The Bond Street Review.

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


Fashionistas in the Time of Covid

“Never a breath you can afford to waste
when you’re lovers in a dangerous time.”
– “Lovers in a Dangerous Time”, Bruce Cockburn

Let’s go out on the town, my love,
during these virus-laden days and
make the most of the quarantine.
we’ll use the necessary masks,
of course, and don the hazmat suits
as policy demands, but what’s to
keep us from making the outfits
our own? I can wear my favorite
hat and tie – perhaps a vintage
scarf or pocket square – and you
can fill out a form-fitting dress
with your strand of pearls and
sparkly boots to match. We’ll
color coordinate and accessorize
as if to the glossy magazines we
were born, fashionistas in the
time of Covid.

Let’s lay claim to the abandoned
street-corners, my dear, and plant
our sanitized flags. We’ll play
our music at rib-shaking volume
and dance straight down the avenue’s
yellow lines, mocking the germs
and their stealth ways, sipping
top-shelf bourbon and enjoying
the spread of warmth across the
concentric circles of our chests.
We’ll sway and lurch drunkenly from
block to block, stopping to admire
our style in shuttered shop windows
as we laugh far-too-loudly at as
many inappropriate jokes as we
can fit into the night, because
who’ll be there to stop us? And
why would they want to anyway?

And when we’ve drunk our fill,
my wife, and Ilaughed ourselves
nearly hoarse, we’ll find our way
back home where the tie and hat
and pearls and boots will all be
tossed to the side as we call out
the contaminated cells once more,
slowly peeling off the protective
layers of fabric, rubber and plastic
to reveal the warm and sweaty skin
beneath. “No,” you might say, “leave
the mask on – I’ve always wanted
to make love to a doctor.” And
I’ll oblige because that’s what
a good lover does. Let’s keep one
another hot through the morning,
my love, and then write it all down
for posterity, so that when the
post-panic story gets gathered
and told, we’ll have an ear-marked
chapter with our names in the
margins, invisible but incredibly bold.