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Abject Lesson by Paul Hostovsky They kill the
intellectuals first. It
goes back to the old hatred for the smartest kid in the class, the one whose hand
was always up, practically
levitating in his seat— “Oh,
I know, I know.” But he didn’t know they kill the
intellectuals first; didn’t
know the stolid, bored, backrow kids who were slow in school would be swift and
decisive in
violence. Where did they learn it? he asks himself now,
blood gushing
from his nose and mouth, the articulate fingers reaching out from the sleeves
of the well-ironed uniforms to
remove daintily, almost lovingly, the eyeglasses from
the blinking eyes of
the intellectuals first, then dropping them to the ground, then
crushing them with
the boots. So much to learn, dear heart, say the ironical
uniform evil smiles, which,
stitched together, form a kind of horizon line at the
end of the world.
Benedict Arnold by Paul Hostovsky “I did my report
on Benedict Arnold because
those other guys were all taken by the time I got
home from my grandmother’s funeral
in Florida. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin
Franklin and
Alexander Hamilton and John Hancock and John Adams and John Jay et al., were all
taken and only Benedict Arnold
remained. Because nobody likes a traitor. And his name is synonymous
with betrayal. The
most infamous turncoat in our history. But he makes for
an interesting story. And
isn’t that what history ought to be? I mean think for a
minute about what the man risked.
The punishment for high treason for much of the history
of England and its colonies was
emasculation, evisceration, and decapitation, in that order. In
other words, they would cut off your
weenie (excuse me, Mrs. Cunningham, but it’s true, you
can google it if you want to), then
slice you open, and after you had finished watching your intestines
spill onto the ground, they
would cut off your head for good measure, stick it on a spike
or palisade, and there among the
other traitorous heads, display it for weeks or months at a time.
For reasons of public decency women
convicted of high treason were usually burnt at the stake
instead. And that concludes my
report on Benedict Arnold. Any questions?”
Looking
Around for Something Dead to Roll Around In by Paul Hostovsky Feeling surly and
misanthropic on Thanksgiving, I
excused myself from the table where the gratitude was so thick
you could rip
it with your canines, tear it clean off the bone and carry it
dangling and bloody in your teeth right
out of the room.
Then I sniffed around in an adjacent room for a while and,
finding a dead poet
on one of the bookshelves, buried myself in some sweetly decaying,
quaintly boxy poems for
several pages, exulting in the faintly mildewing historical smell,
when all of a sudden you burst into the room and yelled
at me to stop stewing. Paul Hostovsky's latest book
of poems is Pitching for the Apostates (Kelsay,
2023). His poems have been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, The
Writer's Almanac, The Pushcart Prize Anthology, and the Best American
Poetry blog. Website: paulhostovsky.com
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