the rotary dial

best new poetry in form

Weeds are not supposed to grow
but by degrees
some achieve a flower, although
no one sees.

From the October Issue


Stopping My Work on a Summer Evening

Whose pool this is my grandkids know.
They scream and shout and come and go
And splash about with swimming gear,
Their nut-brown skin wetly aglow.

Although some people say they hear
It all annoyingly too clear
For me that's just a benefit –
I love to have the children near.

The shrieks of joy the kids emit
Are well worth all the neighbors' shit;
"His grandkids screamed too loud at play":
I'll take that for a good obit.

Although the water's blue today
I smile, and work, off from the fray;
I've still got mortgages to pay,
I've still got mortgages to pay.


Not much is known about Marcus Bales except he lives and works in Cleveland, Ohio, and his poems have not appeared in Poetry or The New Yorker.