"Tuna on white, no crust, right?"

Two poems by Weston Morrow


"Tuna on white, no crust, right?"

After The Fast and The Furious (2001)

It's like this      I've spent all evening

on Youtube looping through the same clip of The Fast and The Furious Tuna Scene


wondering why they added all the cars

and cops and drug running to this beautiful

two-minute movie      about a man and a woman



and a tuna sandwich            the crust that tried to come between them

I keep screaming at the computer screen as the cars come screeching through interrupting           this romantic moment between


frosted tips and low-rise jeans

which are the names I've given these two characters because I can't remember their real ones                                                                        and


thirteen years later I will cry the last time

one of them drives out of frame        blubbering

like a baby        my emotions are never the size they should be



never coming at the right time         like right now how I'm sitting on my toilet a year since you left crying into the gap your hand once cleft between

my run-down thighs    wondering why

you had to leave me     in a Subway of all places

not even the underground kind    just    some fucking sandwich shop



right after I spent $10.89 on two five-dollar footlongs and now every time I see cold meat slipped between

two sweaty slices of bread I sob and think      of you all over    again

Small Pond Hydra* Gets Its Revenge

After Freya Daly Sadgrove

I am being pulled      in every direction at once   like an atom splitting

or a man tied between four horses and ripped apart        what's that called


drawn and quartered?         I want you to draw me like one of your French swirly bread things

what are they called         croissants?



That's what I want          for you to turn me inside out and in- to a little crescent moon and eat me           with jam-

covered fingers          run your hands over and through me         sticky strawberry glue me


back together won't you      when they undo me when they split me into separate limbs and send me       spinning free-

radically        my body        little lonely electrons without a center  only

more so         cause instead of the infinitesimal



I am four limbs without a torso               and antioxidants won't be enough you'll need     car insurance

that can handle the kind of ox-sized dents I'll leave in your life this time I mean     just fucking


huge            you'll see         drop me in the water call me

small pond hydra           watch them grind me down to paste a nice pâté      smooth texture not half-bad taste they'll say

as they scoop me onto crackers           I'll come roaring back    I'll be



soaring        like a flock of birds

shitting on everything



*In the 1990s, Ulrich Technau and a team of scientists at Darmstadt University of Technology ripped apart and ground down small pond hydra in order to observe the animals' unique ability to regenerate from remaining head cells, a process that was both illuminating to human science and extremely rude.


About the author

Weston Morrow is a writer and graduate student of English literature at Central Washington University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in After the Pause, Boston Accent Lit, Pidgeonholes, Riggwelter, and elsewhere. He can be found on Twitter @WMorrow or at www.westonmorrow.com.

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