Three poems by Joshua Nguyen

Updated: Nov 26



Kaleidoscoping Around The Haibun Of The Last Can Of SPAM


Over the horizon, xenophobia is a blue eye peeking from the other side of aisle nine. Overcasting of gray windows. The geometry of the last can of SPAM— with its plush yellow font— blooms forth a meal-prep of solitude. A void opens on aisle ten. There, beaming with the shimmer of lukewarm Shiner Bock clasped between its fingers, a bear, who, when provoked, doesn’t resemble the attitude of the Charmin toilet paper bear. In fact, the bear with the beer is scratching aimlessly in the air, squatting on a kiosk of Easter candies.


Where have they gone? The

bear yowls. Where have all my rolls

of family gone?



To Asian Squat or Not?


is to ask whether it’s worth to suffer

the slings & arrows of broken bodies

trying to claw at whatever nutrition

your skin provides.

Squat &

hide

in the corner of the abandoned

gym riddled of bloodied

walls fingerpainted with THERE IS NO AFTER

THERE IS NO BEFORE

THERE IS NOTHING BUT NOW & GORE.


Channel your toes in Vietnamese roots.


Keep your ankles nimble, your achilles

hidden with leather.


How deep is your

lunge? Creep forward,

crab walk into the abandoned


medical supply closet. Aspirin, gauze, nail clipper.


The lower your head, <