by Guillermo Rebollo-Gil Scott Rodgerson For a few months after the student strike, this cop and I would run into each other in Walgreens, at the gas station. The first couple of times he would ask hey, weren’t you one of the… I had answered yes , the very first time. One day, he called me by my name, asked if I had graduated already. Another day, I walked out the store to find him smoking next to my car. One thing we would do to cops during the strike was shame them into lo

by Guillermo Rebollo-Gil Carlos E. Ramirez The child wants to know who’s that on my shirt, an occasion his mother had warned me about. I could call him a heel , but my friends the poets have advised against using wrestling terms in my poems without defining them first. I could say he’s a friend but dead wrestlers aren’t my friends so much as my role models? His mother asks, smiling. Personal prompts for sorrow , I reply. Take Bruiser Brody, for instance. Stabbed in a locker r