Tag: by Terese Svoboda
I Think of PilgrimsBy Terese Svoboda
Cellphoned to their continents, Pilgrims / from whatever persecution, kill those turkeys in / want, want, want, and the landing gear drops.
Three PoemsBy Terese Svoboda
The hedges, as square / as the capital letters important / books begin with, screen // the neighbor but not / his feet
Two DoctorsBy Terese Svoboda
Two doctors, married to each other. At first it was doctor and nurse skulking dark corridors in heat and finding empty gurneys, then doctor on doctor.