By Sarah Chapman
He had a cold coming, and he sneezed
all over my coat. I watched his eyes
scrunch up, his glasses made them big
as whale’s / his suit jacket crunched, if
she was here she’d tell him she hates
touching him / with the dim bright light
between us I look down.
Clutching at Straws 
booooo! worst poem ever!
Who are you, nick? and why is this the worst poem ever? hooray for freedom of sppech, but “booooo” to pissy-ass commentators who don’t have constructive criticism in their repertoire. Please link me to some of your writing so that can booo them in return.
Unless, of course, you are her friend and this is a joke.
If not, please don’t sully up this zine with childish BS.