Poetry Showcase: John Dorroh

Bio: John Dorroh (he/him) may have taught high school science for several decades. Whether he did is still being discussed. Three of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net. Hundreds more have appeared in journals such as Feral, River Heron, North Dakota Quarterly, Loch Raven Review, and Selcouth Station. He had two chapbooks published in 2022 – Swim at Your Risk and Personal Ad Poetry. He is a Southerner living in the Midwest.

"How's That for a Monday?"


Today will be different.
No, really. It will be.
I’m giving the day 
to whoever’s in charge
& stepping out of the way.

I will take Sanford 
on a walk & let him 
sniff & yank & pull
me into his world.

We will eat chicken
salad sandwiches at
the edge of the lake
& drink ice-cold water
from the blue thermos.


The bed went unmade
& no one seemed to
care. I skipped washing
dishes & didn’t clean
the tub. I took a nap
at 2:15 & woke up 
with a dog in my bed.

I planted bulbs & Sanford
dug them up. His sweet 
floppy ears made me love
him even more. How can
I scold him when he begs
for a hug?


I meant to call the urologist
to confirm my appointment. 
I failed to attend the Zoom 
session on securing investments. 
The concert in the park was post-
poned so we had beers in the Irish
pub instead.

I took two huge bags of clothes
to Goodwill. The line behind the
store was eight cars long. We
listened to an Oldies station
and slurped our Moto-Mart
sodas with long straws that
could reach out and grab a star.

I accidentally left a pack of
chicken thighs in the kitchen
sink since 9 in the morning.
I think I should not take a chance 
& spoil what’s been a very nice

"Teeny-tiny Accolades for Escape"


Tell your mother::I’ve gone sculpting
once again. Like so many other mornings
when there was dew::when there was desert.
When there was an unpleasant task at hand
that I kept putting off, like postponing
an eminent surgery to correct the manner
in which I breathe.

Tell her::I’ll see her when I’ve chiseled
and puttied and cleaned up my mess. Tell
her not to be sad:: to get in the car and take you
to get ice cream – any amount, no limit,
flavor of the day or something you invent. 
Make it a perfect time for skipping school. 
::Hand her a napkin:: when she gets that look 
on her face.


Thank you for being a conduit. (What’s that?)
It’s a bridge, dear:: a pathway::a way to connect
two different things to celebrate::flow. You will
understand one day::when you meet someone
you think you love.

"That Which Appears Perfectly Repurposed"

The old bread knife with its stale teeth can’t saw through a sweet roll. Like so much danger to a big brown bear or a bad dream that knows how to punch a hole into your glib, lifeless soul. It was useless at the last five picnics but someone keeps forgetting to sharpen it. It may be past all that, dull and ready for being repurposed: a gray metallic strip, the perfect width for patching the slit in the corner of the compost pile, the entrance/exit for werewolves that get inside at night, the ones that wear the garlic necklaces like professionals who know exactly what they’re doing. They are smart, devious creatures, catching you off guard just when you think you’re safe, like an indestructable virus that morphs from one form to another, adapting to new cues in the environment. I ordered a new knife, hand-crafted in Germany in the Black Forest where the big bad wolf with his red breath tricked a little girl into letting him take a peak inside her goodie basket, letting him punch a hole in the beautiful brown crust with one mahogony-colored claw,  sharper that any one of the teeth on my new knife that costs me and arm & a leg.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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