The Whisky Blot
Journal of Literature, Poetry, and Haiku
I pass the beer trucks,
the workmen staring at a curbside hole, the plastic grocery sack blown across the avenue like tumbleweed. Hands on the wheel, brain still raw from too much wine. At the gym we trudge around the track – minds numbed enough that we forget the lap count. This weather’s crazy we say, just like yesterday, but it’s not winter and that’s a victory, as is the nearby river with its small waves, waiting for a freighter miles and miles away. Bruce Gunther is a retired journalist and writer who lives in Michigan. He's a graduate of Central Michigan University. His poems have appeared in The Comstock Review, East by Northeast, Modern Haiku, the Dunes Review, and others. Comments are closed.
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February 2025
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