Spring 2008, Volume 4

Poetry by Allison Tobey


Is an electric toothbrush.
Pulsating in neat circles with 3D brushing action,
crisscross bristles, an ultra thin soft grip handle,
And a two-minute timer with 30-second intervals—
just so you know when to move on.

Is a pair of boxer briefs.
Super soft ring-spun cotton—as soft
as your favorite T-shirt. And a gently
fitted waistband—no chafing or binding.
You can wear them everyday—until
they disintegrate and blow away.

Is a pistol.
Forged from solid steel—yet still lightweight.
The perfect balance of handling, size, and firepower.
You stifle your laughter when it cleans a hole
through your drunken father's foot.

BIO:  I was born and raised in Cleveland, OH, amidst the city's sulfurous fumes. Hitting my twenties I took off for cleaner air in the cornfields of Iowa. I recently moved to Portland, Oregon where I am pursuing my MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University. When I am not working on my writing, I pay the bills by giving children the evil eye. I have work forthcoming in The Concho River Review and Nthposition.