Pride 7 Deadly Sins Vol. 7

Pride: 7 Deadly Sins Vol. 7

stories, poems and essays

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A Pure Slush E-book

Copyright

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First published as an eBook collection May 2019

First published in paperback in May 2019

Content copyright © Pure Slush Books and individual authors

Edited by Matt Potter

All rights reserved by the author and publisher. Except for brief excerpts used for review or scholarly purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express written consent of the publisher or the author/s.

Pure Slush Books

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Australia

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Cover design copyright © Matt Potter

Original peacock image copyright © SilviaP_Design

ISBN: 978-1-925536-73-7

Also available in paperback / ISBN: 978-1-925536-72-0

A note on differences in punctuation and spelling

Pure Slush Books proudly features writers from all over the English-speaking world. Some speak and write English as their first language, while for others, it’s their second or third or even fourth language. Naturally, across all versions of English, there are differences in punctuation and spelling, and even in meaning. These differences are reflected in the work Pure Slush Books publishes, and they account for any differences in punctuation, spelling and meaning found within these pages.

Pure Slush Books is a member of the Bequem Publishing collective  http://www.bequempublishing.com/

Poetry

This One Is Mine

after the Rifleman’s Creed

by Lisa Stice

*

There she is. The small one over

there with the awkward run that

every five-year-old has, but look

there how her backpack reaches

there to her knees, how she balances

there on one leg then quickly moves

there to pick up litter out of rocks while

I wait here in the car line and watch.

There are others like her (maybe), but

this one is mine. I am useless, it is

true, without her. She and I know

there was no time before her. And

she has a father. We teach her to

be clean and ready. And she has a

brother (who is a terrier). We are

there to teach how weaknesses can

be strengths, how small ones can be

there right next to everyone, or even

there somewhere ahead. We are a part

of each other. From here, I watch her

there. Look how she pulls everything

into her sights, ready to move from

there, clean into wherever she wants

To Be Tough

by Tony Daly

*

Retirement would bring freedom, you dreamed.

You’d do the things you couldn’t, in uniform:

grow your hair long and a beard too,

tie yourself naked to the old oak tree,

take those illicit drugs you were never allowed:

LSD, cocaine, meth, maybe even marijuana.

We all took it as a joke, but still wondered.

After all, when you first put on those Navy bell bottoms,

you rolled an unopened pack of smokes in your

sleeve for no other reason than to look tough,

too proud to be seen as anything less than your mates.

Tough climbing a palm tree in the South China Sea in ’72.

Tough falling, bleeding into the saltwater.

Tough after 9/11, deploying to dress the dead for burial.

Tough pinning ribbons on chests without shedding tears.

You believed you were tough, keeping your scars inside.

They only escaped at night as cries in the dark,

and running in your sleep.

Reviewing The Situation

by John Bost

*

The group of editors met for their weekly lunch

Out on the deck, these cool cats gathered –

Their tawny-colored manes of hair blew

in the breeze, sandwiched between their words

Roars of laughter found occasion to be heard –

While they snacked on and shared morsels

Delectable tales of missing commas, incomplete sentences

Running on to misplaced verbs and dramatic dashes –

Appalling apostrophes making sudden appearances

What possessed them, they’d pause to wonder

To exclaim, mark their words in raucous red

Until they turned blue, saddened by the state of affairs

They tasked themselves to revise and to reveal –

Lines labored on late into early evenings

These editors talked and tirelessly tinkered

Once more doing the lion’s share of the work

This pride of crafty creative and cool cats

Patiently pondered … paused, ’til all was fit to print.

Cold Is Deeper Than Pride

by Lucy Tyrrell

*

Driving to the library,

I see lavender-pink plumes

belch from industrial stacks

into pale eerie landscape

of minus thirty—ice fog,

car exhaust, distant mountains.

In the foyer, on a bench,

an unshaven man sits, bent—

head in hands, elbows on knees

of tattered pants. Sturdy brown

paper wraps his feet—rags tie

up the bulky creases, hold

rumpled folds over his toes.

While he dozes, I take his

photograph, feeling guilty—

at closing time, I’ll go home.

With As Much Pride As I Can Muster

by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal

*

This old heart of mine no longer beats

down the doldrums, nor turns humdrum

bright as gold, as it did in my prime;

and nightly, in dreams high in my vessel

of wanting delight, it’s strangers acting

out my desires! Imagine that! Intruders

beating me to the punch in the quest for

hot sex: Moist bodies embrace, legs, twixt

& twain, heighten each twist & turn

of a lusty mind. And this morning I wake

far from alright, vowing to lotion my loins

daily, perfume my skin and, if my old man

again says, Not tonight dear, I’ll write this

craft of mine, shove it in his face, and ride

out the current into the sunset

with as much pride as I can muster.

Beach Life

by Ryn Holmes

*

The Gulf is gorgeous today:

a perfect emerald fading to azure

banded by the indigo of deep water.

Along the shore,

a sandpiper trills optimism.

A little scientist with needled beak,

its dead-eye sharp vision

probes for breakfast.

Tired of waiting,

restless juveniles take flight nearby,

chased off by an old bird

running low to the ground –

head thrust out,

back hunched,

wings folded back –

in profile, resembling a feathered,

fussy schoolmaster scolding unruly boys.

It’s impatient with the squabble of gulls

trading local news up on the dune.

Obvious interloper:

black pigeon in birdy suit and tie

dressed too formally for pacing.

Smug, it gloats over a new prize –

slow death in a bright plastic package.

Vitamin D

by Sarah Henry

*

Vitamin D is needed to maintain strong bones.

You can tell I’m a proud woman

by the way I carry myself.

Vitamin D hardens teeth.

So they present a united front.

Calcium plus D supplements prevent falls.

I have outlived my husband long enough 

to discover the fountain of minerals.

I play golf and brag about my scores.

Exposure to sunlight is required for absorption.

If I were made of chlorophyll,

my leaves would spread wide open.

Milk is a good food source.

From the land to the cow to the farmer

to the truck to the store to my mouth

and liver and kidneys, the endless

chain is necessary, unlike the card

club I can quit any time I want.

Hiraeth

by Steven Deutsch

*

Sure, Moses qualifies

but it’s hardly a stretch

to include those

DNA ghouls—

lanced and shorn—

who purpose their lives

in finding

some fabulous

ancestor—

hoping they might puff

up their emaciated chests

like frigatebirds

in heat

and point excitedly to

an illustrious branch

of their family tree—

but seem, always,

to come up with

monkeys.

The Proud Homecoming King

by Mike Lewis-Beck

*

The proud homecoming king

rides high, waves regal, from his football throne.

The fans toss their caps, wave back from the throng.

A fella in a letter-sweater salutes his chief.

Two teens in tight skirts toss pink daisies.

Senior Citizens in wheelchairs marvel

when he flexes—and flexes—to catch a phantom pass.

See the Queen, behind the King, her eyes turned

as she waves to the cute guy in the pork-pie

who waves back to her. Watch the King’s

face frown while he grinds out a fake smile

just before he puts a paw too high up the Queen’s waist.

The Variety Of Human Voting

by Piet Nieuwland

*

It’s the general election, and after a tumultuous campaign voting concludes on a Saturday in early spring. At the Anglican Hall as a scrutineer I sit behind several Electoral Officials. I’m there to ensure that there is no attempt to influence the voters’ decisions. It’s a big steep high roofed hall with mirrors along the back wall. Who votes?

A man with one leg on crutches

A woman in a wheelchair

Another woman in a wheelchair

A man with