Ryan Torres: 2 Poems

PSA From The Price is Right

My cat went into heat

for the first time.

She kept walking around the house,

screaming for a lover,

and searching every room.

Looking for love in all the wrong places.

Begging for the sweet release of sex.

Pleading for an end to this primal urge.

I tell her, “I’m sorry, Sweet Pea.

But, for what it’s worth,

I know what it’s like.”

I am Bob Barker’s

mortal enemy.

The Salem Satan

Satan lives in Salem, Massachusetts.

He dresses in black and red holy orders

with a cape.

His eyes are black and empty,

and there is a hungry grin

permanently fixed on his masked face.

The evangelicals line up

outside the clinics,

or outside the Satanic temple,

or in the commons

waving signs.

And they promise the things

that only Satan can deliver.

So, Satan shows up to these gatherings too.

And he carries a sign of his own.

The sign reads:

“Free hugs from Satan.”

And the sinners line up to do so.

A warm embrace

that we all desire.

One day,

on Satan’s Facebook page,

he posted a picture

of a grey-haired man

who was overweight,


wore glasses,

and had a tattoo on his right arm.

Seemed like an okay guy.

Someone I would sit next to at the dive bar.

Someone with whom I would shoot the shit.

And the post read:

“This is the real me.”

And Satan told the world

about his social anxiety.

That some days it’s hard to leave the house.

That he had accepted his weight.

And that he feels sad in the same way

that all his followers--

and unfollowers--



who knew Satan

is just like

one of us?

Anastasia Jill: 3 poems

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