Issue No. 17, Summer 2016


I hear a lone katydid this October afternoon. In broad daylight, way before his usual sunset debut, he seizes the day. Trying to get lucky, he can’t even wait for nightfall, a teenage insect boy who really, really doesn’t want to die a virgin. Apparently he’s aware that a hard frost is just around the corner and his stridulating days are numbered. It’s now or never. Incorrigibly anthropomorphic, but do you doubt me?

Ray Scanlon. Massachusetts boy. Lucky to be above ground, lucky to have grandchildren. No MFA. No novel. No extrovert. Not averse to litotes. Twitter: @oldmanscanlon. On the web: