Web Exclusives

  • Photo illustration by Mary Wuestewald There are, as evidenced by the working-class literature special issue of World Literature Today, many working-class writers around the world. However, the desire of working-class poets to share their...
  • The Cricket Match They have fooled us, friends, got us all to gaze night and day at the television,Entrusted us with the cricket match,While they go and steal the country’s resources, we watch the match,They steal away food from our plate, we watch...
  • Late three times for work, so it’s night shiftor my job. I’m eighteen, no experience, broke,so I make the deal. I wear jeans and a T-shirt:Shop at Ray’s for the Best Deals Around,a message more pertinent whenthere was more than one store in town.  I...
  • [Download the e-book Blaze A Vanishing by Alan Morrison] Alan Morrison's e-book Blaze A Vanishing is available here in its entirety as a WLT web exclusive to go along with his poem “Twigworth Yews” in the November 2013...
  • Sandy stands in the designer-wear sectionof a suburban department storein her best jeans and a cheery holidaysweater picked up at the Goodwill.The Muzak versions of Christmas carolsleave a hollow ache in her chest.She fingers red velvet and gray...
  • I try to tell my brother not to call himself a “go-fer”just because he fetches cardboard  for women shouting, “Bring me a double order,”  who get paid by the piece. A thin vibration against her machine, Wendy filled 40D cups with tissue paper and...
  • “You’re a big guy. You should be working construction.”                                                             – a woman in line at Kmart   Every time I swung a sledgehammer,shattered the faces of bricks,the poems would stammerlike aces from my...
  • maybe we should just writeand see what happens  and what if something does?could we live with ourselvesif nothing did?  nothing has in such a long timeand yet that’s a lie too didn’t you just laugh, smilecontemplate slicing my throatas you reached...
  • Blind dog staccato howlsin regular intervals in four-four time,on guard like me, can’t sleep.Am I happier here?When in we talked like cellmates,“How many years you got?” Wife alongside, “Wish that damned dog’dshut the hell up and you’d quit movin’...
  • Love picks its way through the gravel rutsleading into the job site, past the truck tiresexploded nearby, the crows’ rusted voices, blackwings and feet, cottonwoods risen in ghostlyfields and the levee’s blonde lip folded overthe water. It seeks...

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