all that the flies have left — A.S. Coomer

I’m lucky to be included in the latest edition of The Heartland Review, which is full of amazing art & literature. THR was founded two and a half decades ago by Mick Kennedy, an amazing poet & educator. Amy Fox-Angerer is now editor in chief. Big thanks to poetry editors Ted Higgs, Yvonne Morris, & Clay Matthews (all mighty poets with work out there you should seek). I started college at ECTC, where THR is based, so it feels like a homecoming.

Here’s a little sunrise vidyuh of me stumbling my way through “all that the flies have left”, which is on page 30 of the Spring 2025 issue of The Heartland Review.

#TheHeartlandReview #KentuckyLiterature #KentuckyPoet #ASCoomer #LivePoetry #LiveReading #Poetry #SmallPress


all that the flies have left
A.S. Coomer

This moonless night, I’m in a swinging mood,
slicing vegetables to a Gershwin tune.
—Mick Kennedy, “It’s a Slow Night for Poetry”

had i known you were on a diet
i wouldn’t have deep-fried my heart

this old grease congeals softly
our red-eye gravy made with chicory coffee
& the toughest country ham in the county

the gristle of our love packs
the uneven spaces btw our teeth
so we prod each other with toothpicks & barbs
swear out loud that we’re done with all this red-meat
but the way you look away makes my stomach growl

how we ate the spoiled eggs & gamey fowl
off the heirloom china we smashed with relish
the cook could tell from the mess we’d cleaned our plates

though we both enjoyed the meals we made of each other
that young maître d’ moon winks at our server
an old man tired of the sea
tunelessly whistling rhapsody in blue
who doesn’t give us another passing glance
just splits the bill like an atom
& drops two bombs on us
gratuity not included

how i’m the fat man in nagasaki
drunk on destruction
third day of a hellish bender
gratuitous in the beat down
trying to kill the horse twice
just to prove a point
like a bloated, gloating victory lap
around the buffet at closing

we sweat seeking platefuls of more
but there’s never enough to fully feel full
& like that cafe in a clean,
well-lighted place

this place, too, must close
after the great settling up
for a lifetime of nights spent
down deep in the cups
kerosene & liquor boiling our guts
for a lifetime of hangover mornings
where our brains are squeezed
balled like dough for hushpuppies

but this heart, tough as it looks,
has been beaten so long
there isn’t a cut more tender
& though the oil in the fryer
is ancient, it crisps like tempura
& you can have all that the flies have left


Originally published in The Heartland Review Spring 2025 Issue.