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Post Road Magazine #35

Three Poems

Nomi Stone

Kill Class

They load their guns with blanks.
There’s nothing here to fear.

You’re driving weird, honey: you’re weaving.

Nothing here to fear
but the mind fills in the gaps.

Whichever way you turn, soldiers
dream-walk.The dark
is sweet: a nerve inside a tooth.

If midnight comes, tell it
what you saw: hooded, quartered

face-down in gravel. Break
the ice with the bad guy. Then when

it’s time, a tooth for a tooth.



On the 4thof July

The soldiers, as a joke,
bring a pig on the plane,
to tandem-jump
with one of the dudes.
Bucking, manpig
twists through air

til pig won’t man can’t.
Skin, socket, a tremble of teat.
They tell me this in a bar
right outside of these woods
where old boys act-out
a rape to teach war’s

do’s and don’ts, slapping
their hands together—
are you in on this joke?
Do you love your country,
Gypsy?
Drink up before
the animal lands. To be

a gypsy I want to say is to wander
this world. I beg you, you there
pinning the body to the wall.



Creation Myth (How Role-Players Came to Speak)

Soldiers build our legs and arms:
newly made, we clap the fire,
leg lift, leg lift, wake the ache
in the new hewn chest, circle
the pit, steep the tea, slice
the Spam pink as cheeks, break
the bread, then cry! Mouths
light open and shut,
open, then shut, around
their words, their words,
their words,
words, words….



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