Philip Venzke grew up on a dairy farm near Colby, Wisconsin (where Colby Cheese was invented).  A fervent zymurgist, his fermentations take many forms.  His most recent poems are in The Litterbox Magazine, Verse Wisconsin, Echoes, The Wisconsin Poets Calendar, Sheepshead Review, Illumen, Thunderclap! Magazine, and Right Hand Pointing.

Three Poems (September 20, 2010. Issue 21.)

The Last Straw

We drew straws
for the privilege
of who would go first.
It's not that either of us
could ever be called a straw man.
Or would be caught drowning
while clutching at a straw.
And yet,
there were straws in the wind
that suggested our bricks
were not made with straw.
In the end,
we were so focused
on who drew the short straw
that we didn't even hear
the camel's back break.

Make No Bones About It

"I can count all my bones; people stare and gloat over me."
- Psalm 22:17

After they were done staring,
they said: "Are you done?
We have about 206 bones to pick with you.
Get up you bag of bones.
We said get up. Get up.
Don't you have a bone in your body?"
I said: "Please let me explain."
I pleaded: "I know how it all started."
I told them: "In the beginning,
there was one bone.
Some wanted it named: cut to the.
Others wanted it named: chilled to the.
While others wanted: bad to the.
That argument had no end.
One bone snapped into two bones.
Two bones broke into four bones.
Until a pile of bones remained:
mean, jealous, unkind bones."
They hated my bare boned story.
When they returned
they brought sticks and stones.
I had no defense -
I had misplaced my funny bone.

The Hair Stands Up
On The Back Of My Neck

In some neck of the woods,
it's considered honorable
to put your neck on the line
to save someone else's skin.
Stiff-necked, you crowed
how the world was against you.
And I axed you over and over
to stop risking your neck.
You responded by using my aid
against me like an albatross.
Recurring wishes for settlement
were wrung by the neck.
Soon, the chopping block
was up to its neck in excuses.
It finally came down to a race
where we remain stuck,
neck to neck,
fighting each other to come in first,
both dead from the neck up.