A bottle blonde
in Tacoma
screams your name
while having
drunken sex
with a stranger.
You'll be okay.
Search parties
themselves
have gotten lost
and with only a sleeve
of stale Saltines
in the bread box.

A moment ago,
in a flicker of pique,
with a wave of the hand,
I dispersed them.

Glorious birds,
now they are back,
gold talons wrapped,
roosting.

Glorious birds,
high on a wire,
spearing the nits
in their feathers.

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, MO. He is the son of Irish immigrants, which explains why there is no "d" at the end of his first name. Pronounced with a long "o," "Donal" is Gaelic for Daniel. It was his father's choice. This name caused his son considerable consternation in grammar school as he had to explain to nuns on the first day of class why he could not spell his own name

The moon holds your frame
And silhouettes you

And I see it
From the corner of my eye

From my diseased
And dying window

On a miserable July 31st
Drunk as Grandpa on VJ Day

And it sustains me
For tonight

For tomorrow
For Kingdom Come

John Tustin's work has appeared in various literary magazines and online journals, including Poem, The Camroc Press Review, and The Medulla Review. He has two perfect children and a job that is slowly killing him.