Sell Me Something

by Edward Manzi
Sell Me Something


I burn like a plastic Rhinoceros on a toothpick spit, grey body
browning and melting above a white candlestick in a green
candleholder. Turn me loose. Turn me loose, I say. Holy shit man; look
at that bird, I think it’s a crow with a white feather, poking around in
our trash getting it all over the road. Give me my b-b gun. Don’t tell me
I sound way different now-I am just a little angry; somewhat burned
out and searching for a new place to store my umbrella. Is it I you
are addressing? Do you want to know where I live, my phone number and
my email? I will give it you, even though I know you will soon be trying
to sell me something.




Edward ManziEdward Manzi lives in Tahoe City, CA. He has an MFA from the University of New Hampshire. His recent publications include poems in Blood Lotus, Brushfire, Word Riot, Paper Nautilus and Sun’s Skeleton. He has recently had a poem nominated for a Pushcart Award. He works in Special Education, as an assistant, at a middle school.



I Was Born On a Stop Sign

by Edward Manzi
Stop Sign


I was born on a stop sign. A stop sign removed from its post and placed under my mother’s womb among white sheets. I whined as I slid around on the red metal before they dried me off and placed me in her arms.

Father ate three cloves of raw garlic, believing it would bring his first son good fortune.

It rained that day. It rained and the ponds flooded. Water lit with goldfish flowed through the streets.

Soon after, my father died. My mother mixed her breast milk with cloves of garlic. I choked a little.

I am 83 years old. Once, I ate a dragonfly. Swallowed her whole. I felt her fly up against my insides until she tore a hole right through me and continued flying toward the daytime moon.

And so, I am defeated. It is the way of the world. All we can do is wait for the strawberries to ripen and imagine eating them with whipped cream, sometime in the near future.

I am 500 years old. I am moving to a place where I will be kept busy and appear well assimilated and successful. I will wear a tie five days a week and make enough money to save some.

I am 7 million years old. A few times I was a stone. A few times my mother and father were stones. A piece of a crushed stone on someone’s walkway. A stone in a wall. A stone at the bottom of a lake. A stone around the neck of a queen.

I started doing what I am doing before you knew you existed. And now there is no hope for anything new.

I remember when I was a little boy ridding around in mommy’s car thinking there is so much music on the radio.

Clap for me in the dusk before the moon rises, before you want to be someone else.




Edward ManziEdward Manzi lives in Tahoe City, CA. He has an MFA from the University of New Hampshire. His recent publications include poems in Blood Lotus, Brushfire, Word Riot, Paper Nautilus and Sun’s Skeleton. He has recently had a poem nominated for a Pushcart Award. He works in Special Education, as an assistant, at a middle school.