In-Between Trash and a Picnic
(Found Poem. Source text: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee)

while the affluent milk food
from old family boots,
he sits between two available trees

the corner square courthouse whisky-colored
through his bulb-shaped soda glasses,
the sun a yellow breast he sips all afternoon


Reunion with an Aging Mother
(Found poem. Source text: John Updike’s Rabbit At Rest)

From Ma’s old room,
she hears
weird murmurs.
Hushes crawl.
She taps the door
and pushes in.

Raindrops glint
window panes.
Clouds crowd out
the hazy sky,
their dark hearts
into the overcast night
like UFOs.

Mother sits
against the headrest
back straight
lips clamped
a stuffed dolphin
in her lap.

Hauntedness floats—
dark flickers, the white
of her eyes drift.

She picks
pale patches of blue,
wonders if she
can become addicted
to tears
like everything else.


You wouldn’t believe it Jesus

buildings reach heaven now.
Erect, they ejaculate clouds into the sky.
In fact, cumulus is flipping me off as we speak.
Sorry to say that, but it’s the norm:
raw humor and lewdness rules society.
Today’s nude culture of pasties and tattoos
lures the gullible with absurd schemes
on how to get uncovered-discovered.
I’ll admit I’ve almost fallen prey
to the enticement. Forgive me
but just today a man tried to sell me
a sax for two hundred dollars, only
it was sex, not sax I found out
almost too late. We stood in Times Square
surrounded by solidity, the air a sewer.
He tried to coax me into a taxi, tried
to flash me but I told him to jack off
like the buildings, yes, like the buildings.


Laurie Kolp, author of Upon the Blue Couch and Hello, It’s Your Mother, has poems in Stirring, Whale Road Review, Rust + Moth, Up the Staircase, Front Porch Journal, and more. An avid runner and lover of almonds, apples, and chocolate, Laurie lives in Southeast Texas. Learn more at