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Three poems by Julian J. Guillermo

For William Carlos Williams

This is just to say 
there are no plums
in the produce department.

They are out of season
and those I could find
are sprayed with pesticide, 
GMO'ed and spliced 
with a mosquito

resistant Peach.


Forgive me
for coveting your icebox,
your relied upon red wheelbarrow
your clean rain and soft chickens

your 1923.






Three Older Women 

at the Bus Stop
pushed past

the makeshift turnstile
and heavily into a seat

The one in the front briefly raised her glove
as she said

We'll square up with you tomorrow, baby


Her Southern accent 
still holding on

for dear life
amidst the sleet and ice
of Philadelphia. 

The driver has no fight

left in him
and if he did, it is reserved for someone

other than these ladies


who are already pulling yarn from their bags,
crocheting on the way home
from the sliding scale medical clinic
on the east side.

My Uncle Asks

for soft tacos

from the gas station
when I call to see

if there's anything

he needs.

He has survived

an open-heart-surgery-

The exclamation point 
that punctuates a life

of struggle and poverty.

No fault of his own,

just the hand he was dealt, 
like all of us,

your best laid plans 

either work, or they don't.

When it's all said
and done,
you can kick, scream and cry
or you can accept it all

with grace and maybe a

little bit of class.

When you've finally decided, you can sit down

with your taco 

and just enjoy each moment

while it lasts. 


Julian James is a factory worker and part-time artist who resides in the rustbelt of Appalachia. He enjoys nature, biking, cooking, painting and travel. He is influenced by the imagists, especially William Carlos Williams, Ford Madox Ford and D.H Lawrence. He also enjoys Carl Sandburg & Dorothy Parker. He can be reached at 

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