Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/19/21

Solitary Death Notice

I cried out.
Priest says, Go online, I’m not a dating site.
Mother says, Go online, I’m not a dating site.
Father says, Go online, I’m not a dating site.
Sister says, Go online, I’m not a dating site.
Brother says, Go online, I’m not a dating site.
Friend says, Go online, I’m not a dating site,
Community shouts, Go online, we’re not a dating site!
I Went online.
Found a dating site.
Met a killer.
Taste for blood.
Days later stink gave me away.
Pronounced dead in my home.

©2021 P. C. Moraitis All rights reserved.

P. C. Moraitis

P. C. Moraitis is a columnist and poet born in Detroit, Michigan. She has written theater, operatic and symphonic reviews for The Troy-Summerset Gazette, The Monitor, The Northwest Detroiter and The Dearborn Times Herald. After all, life has its share of comedy and drama.

Long before Brad Pitt made it stylish, she has been eating peanut butter on a spoon.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/05/21

Man, Woman, Birth, Death, Infinity

The ground is littered with used paper face masks. I want to shake this person and that person and tell them, “You can’t be lost in your own world all the time.” But, of course, I won’t. A purplish darkness creeps over the city. I stream a movie about an international crew of astronauts on a journey to the cosmic womb. The ship malfunctions. Their sanity frays. They slowly turn against one another. Something out there in space is acting like a hulking bouncer who won’t let them through. If they knew what I know, they would just chuckle. A month from now my daughter is having a daughter.

©2021 Howie Good All rights reserved.

Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including Stick Figure Opera (Cajun Mutt Press), The Death Row Shuffle (Finishing Line Press), The Trouble with Being Born (Ethel Micro Press), and Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/19/21

Last Will and Testament

Fuck a funeral!

Use the money you’d spend on mine

to celebrate the only proper way:

with drugs and alcohol.

You don’t even have to celebrate me,

just fuckin’ celebrate!

Or give the money to a good cause.

Just don’t give it to something boring,

like a church, please.

There’s enough reason in the world to be sad,

the inevitable shouldn’t be made worse by a

public display of platonic-necrophilia and tears.

No one should have to dress up and be miserable,

especially on my behalf.

I don’t wanna be buried,

cremate me!

Gimme to science!


I won’t give a fuck, I’ll be dead!

As my grandfather used to say,

“Shove a bone in my ass and have

the dogs drag me away.”

Well I got two assholes,

so I’ll need a shit ton of dogs.

Let graverobbers steal my body,

before it’s given over to the dirt,

like they did Lincoln’s,

and have a manhunt across the nation!

We’ll save them a step and a stop at

Home Depot for a shovel.

Don’t waste valuable land on wastes of space.

Build a hospital or a school.

Fuck it, I’d rather people frack or

build yuppie townhouses!

On a second thought,

I have one request,

please don’t fuck my corpse.

I don’t find it disrespectful,

just weird.

©2021 Joe Szalinski All rights reserved.

Joe Szalinski

Joe Szalinski is a writer & performer from Pittsburgh, PA. He attended Slippery Rock University for his undergrad in writing & literature. Since returning to his native Pittsburgh, he’s been busy performing comedy, acting, making music, and writing. His writing, both creative and academic, has appeared in Defenestration, The Howling Press, The Short Humour, PS It’s Poetry (an anthology), and RockScissorsPaper.