Sidewalk Ghouls, by Richard Stevenson
There once was a worker named Pete
who had barely got back on his feet.
He’d just cashed his first cheque,
heard a screech — what the heck? —
and was pasted right into the street.
Well, they scraped up his flattened remains,
washed the blood down the gutter and drains,
while the rubber-necked ghouls
stood on sidewalk and stools
with their soft drinks and gawked at his brains.
I have recently retired from a thirty-year gig teaching English and Creative Writing courses for Lethbridge College and I’ve published thirty books, counting a long poem sequence about a very human monster, the Canadian serial killer Clifford Olson, Rock, Scissors, Paper, which will be out in the fall. My recent works are collections of haikai poetry (haiku, senryu, tanka, kyoka, zappai and haikai sequences: Fruit Wedge Moon (Hidden Brook Press, 2015) and The Heiligen Effect (Ekstasis Editions, 2015).