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	<title>Getting Something Read &#187; Fiction</title>
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	<link>http://shortpoem.org</link>
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		<title>Just a Suggestion, Okay?</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/just-a-suggestion-okay/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/just-a-suggestion-okay/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 Feb 2012 05:44:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1552</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof Can we talk? No, let&#8217;s not of graves, of worms, and epitaphs (Richard II, Act III, scene 2), but of editors. Dateline. August 22, 2011: I emailed ten tanka to a journal. Tanka, if you do not know, are five-line poems. November 28: two days before the journal was due [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>If I Could Imagine</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/if-i-could-imagine/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/if-i-could-imagine/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 22 Jan 2012 23:42:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1368</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch The decal of a woman is on the red prophylactic machine in a Chula Vista bar. Across its front someone has peeled her away until she appears to have a head wound, partially encased by her undulating hair. The precise manner someone took to cut away this decal has produced a sculptured [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Dreidel in Rudolph&#8217;s Manger</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-dreidel-in-rudolphs-manger/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-dreidel-in-rudolphs-manger/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 23 Dec 2011 11:13:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Todd Walton</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Todd Walton]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=894</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Todd Walton Israel Jacobs, born a Jew, and Margaret O&#8217;Hara, born and baptized a Catholic, were married in the spring of 1999. And despite their mothers, they lived quite happily until their only child, Felix, turned five. Then Christmas and Hanukkah loomed simultaneously as they always do, and the whole kettle of fish, gefilte [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>6</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Twice as Long as Wide: Obelisk</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/twice-as-long-as-wide-obelisk/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/twice-as-long-as-wide-obelisk/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Sep 2011 17:22:49 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[KJ Hannah Greenberg]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1010</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by KJ Hannah Greenberg Rosemary ran her finger through the pile of clipped job announcements and twiddled the index of her atlas. The notices she&#8217;d cut from the professional newsletter were printed in blue ink. The notices she&#8221;d pinched from The Chronicle of Higher Education were printed in black. Other notices, taken from a free, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>Dreams and Prayers</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/dreams-and-prayers/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/dreams-and-prayers/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 23 Jul 2011 20:47:59 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/dreams-and-prayers/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch One could see his burning hunger in his shirts, pressed once after washing and once more before wearing to class or on the bandstand. Joseph said, &#8220;Books and music are special. They shouldnâ€™t be treated like greeting cards.&#8221; The hardest part of college was working at the shipyards, unloading sacks of cement, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>The Red, White, and Blue</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-red-white-and-blue/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-red-white-and-blue/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 11 Jun 2011 05:17:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/the-red-white-and-blue/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch I drove heroin hooked soldiers to the infirmary. These men openly cried, or moaned rocking on the back bench of my pick up. One, with his blond hair parted down the middle, wore glasses with circular blue lenses. The MP&#8217;s made him sing &#8220;TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME.&#8221; His voice split, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>Global Economy</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/global-economy/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/global-economy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 23 Apr 2011 11:59:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sally George]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/09/global-economy/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Sally George One day, for no particular reason, Deborah noticed that she didn&#8217;t really like her clothes. Not the ones she was wearing, or the ones she could think of in her closet. She tried to remember how they had looked when she bought them, what she had liked about them. Had they all [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>A book of poetry in his right hand&#8230;</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/a-book-of-poetry/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/a-book-of-poetry/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 08 Mar 2011 22:05:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[D.B. Nicely]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/08/a-book-of-poetry-in-his-right-hand/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by D.B. Nicely A book of poetry in his right hand, a bottle of whiskey in his left. He letsÂ his back crash into the pale yellow wall, the whiskey sloshing in theÂ bottle, and he allows gravity to ease him down with his jacket rising up,Â bunching at his shoulders. He is slouched in the corner beside [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Old Friends</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/old-friends/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/old-friends/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 16 Jan 2011 02:20:58 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Todd Walton</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Todd Walton]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=913</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Todd Walton 1 Michael Perry, gruff and unkempt, smiles at his four-year-old daughter Cecily and says, &#8220;Please be my little songbird just a few more times and we&#8217;ll have Christmas tonight in a motel room with television and a bathtub and&#8230;&#8221; &#8220;A tree?&#8221; asks Cecily, her eyes growing wide at the thought of a [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>General Inspection</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/general-inspection/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/general-inspection/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 13 Jan 2011 01:42:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/general-inspection/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph D. Milosch Jungle trees walled the sky. The wind was the voice of the dying. It twisted wide leaves in dreams of this Viet Nam veteran. He was in the Army&#8217;s drug rehab program. He would help me prepare for a white glove inspection. Dexter took steel wool to the hooks on which [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Rain</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/rain/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/rain/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 10 Dec 2010 13:43:23 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sally George]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/04/rain/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Sally George There wasn&#8217;t any rain although it had been predicted. The cats lay on the window ledge as if they were waiting for the rain and not able to adjust to the reality that it wasn&#8217;t coming. Adjusting to the lacks and nips of reality was an important skill, in Liz&#8217;s view, but [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Calling the Family to Prayer</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/calling-the-family-to-prayer/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/calling-the-family-to-prayer/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 28 Nov 2010 10:45:27 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2009/02/calling-the-family-to-prayer/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph D. Milosch How She Called the Family. It is eight in the morning, and the nuns filed from Sunday services into the dining room. My great grandmother brought in breakfast, consisting of gruel, sugar, and milk. It was the depression. Someday she&#8217;d cook eggs and bacon, but in the thirties, there was toast [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Summer Solstice</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/summer-solstice/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/summer-solstice/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 05 Oct 2010 06:36:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/summer-solstice/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch I believe I have come back unfamiliar with the language of my trade. I try to remember where a handful of sand rolled down slope and water darkened earth until it sparkled gem-like. I try to recall the mornings when men focused their imagination on cut slopes, verticals, trenches and willed their [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/summer-solstice/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Conversation with a Muse</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/conversation-with-a-muse/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/conversation-with-a-muse/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 10 Aug 2010 00:34:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Kristine Remick]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/05/the-miss-nina-peach-product-red-short-short-fiction-prize-winner/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Kristine Remick The storm driven darkness pulled shadow onto surfaces where the contrasts turned them to art. Ordinary things cast spectral gray shapes on the luncheonette’s friction worn Formica and scratched country patterns. Salt. Pepper. Chrome napkin holder. Thunder rattled the diner as the storm built outside. “What if I did?” The hooded woman [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>First Response (Reactions to Daylight Murder)</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/first-response-reactions-to-daylight-murder/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/first-response-reactions-to-daylight-murder/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:25:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[KJ Hannah Greenberg]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=947</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by KJ Hannah Greenberg Except for the coccyx, which Jessica, tenaciously, was attempting to root out from under an ottoman, using only her front claws, nothing was left of Maurice Hichkins&#8217; son, Wilson. Astoundingly, Maurice Hichkins was more concerned with his notes than with his pet. Dr. Hichkins was extremely preoccupied with his study of [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Thistle</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/thistle/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/thistle/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 04 Jul 2009 15:45:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Other]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/thistle/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joe Milosch Sergeant Bunge walked by throwing his legs forward, as if he thought his starched fatigues could crease the air like plow blades mark the earth. I liked him because he went Airborne jumped in Europe, Korea, served in Nam. His first day in the company he lined up the platoon, inspected the [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Music of a Well Oiled Machine</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-music-of-a-well-oiled-machine/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-music-of-a-well-oiled-machine/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 03 Mar 2009 02:19:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/the-music-of-a-well-oiled-machine/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch In late summer when the rain came from the North, Joseph would pull out his ballroom record player, pour a couple of high balls and dance in the screened in porch with his wife, whose legs flickered below her skirt&#8217;s hem. They would sit on their porch and watch the aurora borealis [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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