Andre F. Peltier

Andre F. Peltier (he/him) is a Pushcart Nominee and a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he teaches literature and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti, MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in various publications like CP Quarterly, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Provenance Journal, Lavender and Lime Review, About Place, Novus Review, Fiery Scribe, and Fahmidan Journal, and most recently in Menacing Hedge, The Brazos River Review, and Idle Ink. In his free time, he obsesses over soccer and comic books.

Twitter: @aandrefpeltier

Website: www.andrefpeltier.com

Diss Track

Long winded epics

of Athens and Troy;

Homeric heroes:

a Homeric ploy.

With your courtly little parliament

of pigeons and owls

Even the Pardoner knows

your shit is too foul.

Building the Globe,

called the king by all,

Yet you played the queen

backstage in the hall.

Lots of Holy Sonnets,

but I’ll give them a pass.

You can reason your religion

right up your skinny ass.

Writing’s not your forte:

try sticking with art.

Your Songs of boredom

put horse after cart.

With the idles of a poet,

I call you Lord Venison;

I chew up your meter,

and then spit it out again.

All those Tales of Acadie,

you think you’re a star,

But everyone knows

what a short fellow you are.

Down the open road,

arm in arm with your soul,

You think you’re a witty man,

but I’m in control.

A shut-in in Amherst—

without many friends,

A rash em-dash—

your beginning and end.

Slouching towards sleep,

You couldn’t pay me

To arise and go now

and go to Innisfree.

Hailing from Missouri

with accent affected.

Those stupid cat poems

even Ezra neglected.

Jazz club poetry,

you think you’re so cool,

In a Harlem cabaret,

I’ll take you to school.

Out in California,

the prince of the Beats,

A pretentious, long winded

poker among meats.

Caged birds sing

and caged birds call,

Caged birds die

and still you fall.

Y’all think you’re so great;

y’all think you can poetry.

Y’all try to write nature;

y’all don’t even know a tree.

Y’all think you’re so great,

well I’m better than you.

Y’all are done,

your torture is through.

Remember dear reader,

it’s simply in jest:

A simple laugh

At simply the best.

Steal

Pick > a Sinner

Bribe

wallet

I whip out my < knives

cock

sing voltage

and < wonder > about the < wattage

shout shock

wherefore

When the lights go < within

without

chocolate

And our < lives

block

gold

Turn to < shit

dust

mold

then we drop the < pit

rust

you

never can < I > pick a winner

steal

but always < pick > a sinner

bribe