Gnashing Teeth Publishing

| words that get in your teeth

The Usual by Ken Pobo

I’m walking up to
the convenience store
wearing a pink shirt,
it’s suspicious, where’s
my MAGA hat, guys
don’t do pink, guys are blue

I walk faster–a couple
follow close behind,
it’s broad and narrow
daylight, they get closer,

it’s like this almost everyday,
walking while gay,
avoiding eye contact,
camouflage for an invisible
escape, maybe, probably not,
like the last time.


Kenneth Pobo began writing poetry on July 4, 1970, song lyrics in the style of “Crystal Blue Persuasion” by his still-favorite band, Tommy James and the Shondells.
He is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections. Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), Dindi Expecting Snow (Duck Lake Books), and Wingbuds (, and Uneven Steven (Assure Press).
Human rights issues, especially as they relate to the LGBTQIA+ community, are a constant presence in his work. In addition to poetry, he also writes fiction and essays. For the past thirty-plus years he taught at Widener University and retired in 2020. Find him on Twitter @KenPobo

young woman with red hair smiling at the camera with a white paper umbrella behind her

like pretty tulips by linda m. crate

everything has been hard and heavy, as of late; in my world and the world at large— so yesterday i was drinking in small wonders like pretty tulips dancing out

What I Can Offer You by Rich Orloff

I cannot fix your pain I cannot solve your problem I can’t prevent the sorrow you’re feeling Or even guarantee I’ll make you smile However, because I’ve known Joy embracing

by Natalye Childress

*this poem is in .jpg to preserve formatting *this is the unformatted text of the poem after rainer maria rilke you, the poet, have become world weary, word-wrought. and god

guy with a dark beard and moustache wearing a black graphic tee

Orchards of Udders by Jon Wesick

dripped on the blanket while air rustled tamarind trees. Chekhov drank a Thai iced tea and plummeted out of this poem. A flock of circles twittered in the hacksaw bushes


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