Karin L. Frank
Karin L. Frank’s poems and stories have been published in a wide variety of venues both literary and genre, in the U.S.A. and abroad. Nurtured by the fantasies and sciences of both coasts, she is now officially an old lady disintegrating on a farm in the Midwest. A Meeting of Minds, a collection of her science-based and science fiction-based poems is available through Amazon. A second, entitled Frankenstein Unbound, is in the works and should be completed soon.
The following work is Copyright © 2023, and owned by Karin L. Frank and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Saturday Afternoon
in the Mall of America
Random battle raged along
the shop- and restaurant-lined
hallways, up and down the escalators
and in-and-out of restrooms.
Parents yelled, “Quiet,” at kids
at the decibel level of jet engines
and kids razzed other kids
like mini-buzz saws spinning
as they rode the fairground rides
while teenagers texted, lolling
amongst old-timers resting
silent on benches between strolls.
Guts resonated each time
toilets flushed. Perfumes
clawed pathways from doorways
to sinuses. Cell membranes echoed
the price when cashiers rang up,
and loudspeakers insisted
everyone Pay Attention.
Crazed timpanists hidden
behind garish window displays
percussed shoppers’ eardrums
with bombs and bangs and
individual songs sung in unison
took on the cacophonous
timber of screams.
The assault wore on
as the afternoon waned and
the Mall of America
mauled my American brain.
Stuart Larner
Stuart Larner is a retired psychologist. He wrote the illustrated sonnet sequence “The Car” in 2016. He won the British Psychological society’s Poetry Competition 2022. For more poetry and stories, see his blog.
The following work is Copyright © 2023, and owned by Stuart Larner and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
In a Clothes Shop Window
In the latest shirts and skirts,
arms open for a tomorrow here today,
hips braced to dance with new ideas,
their frozen flirts aim at each other
a tender invisible connection.
With their gear,
I would be reborn.
I want
their clothes.
They want
to come alive.
