Cold Rambler

When empathy died the soldiers could dance in the streets they’d cracked wearing the underwear of the women whose homes they had destroyed. And dance they did with pride. When empathy was dead  the soldiers could take children’s toys from the rubble of their bombed homes and repurpose them as tank trophies mascots to be flaunted with pride while the street cracked under the weight. When they had killed empathy  the soldiers could shoot babies in the head or gut - they chose, and someone’s daughter 200 times,  or 300 - they could choose. And they filmed it with pride from the street’s rubble and cracks. When empathy was murdered the soldiers could capture children and imprison them in cages, one metre square, or whatever they chose until they told them  what they did not know and then laugh with pride in the smooth Israeli streets. When empathy was dead and buried deep down below the streets’ cracks and only silence could be heard Israel was supreme, a supreme being,...

The concept of a fountain of youth is one that has crossed the centuries, as well as the globe. Yet, nobody  can agree on what it is, where it is and who has it, for sure. I step forward today  to submit an answer  to settle this ongoing debate— for I personally have tasted an elixir that has  shaved years off my life, in more ways than one.  Good people, hear  and believe me now! If, in fact, a fountain of youth flows somewhere  in our wide  and fucked-up world, I would bet  my last dollar that it tastes like cold beer from a freshly-tapped keg. But not  Bud Light.    Jack Phillips Lowe resides in the Chicago area. His poems have appeared in Cajun Mutt Press, Clutch 2025 and Bold Monkey Review. Lowe's selected poems, Flashbulb Danger (Middle Island Press, 2018), is available from Amazon. His most recent book, Brautigan's Blue Moon (Instant Oblivion Press, 2025), is available from lulu.com.