The White Review Short Story Prize, sponsored by RCW, is an annual short story competition for emerging writers. The prize awards £2,500 to the best piece of short fiction...
minutes were different in ward-time. continuous difluoromethane and stale skin and sterilising fluid from the ventilation units replaced sundials....
when walt whitman spokea multitudes
he meant did he not that within each ovus
an obsequious beer soaked indie boy broods
about steppin in front of a fuckin bus
t burrow down intae the freckled id
where coffee torns t treacle on the hotplate
and borst fegs are embedded in the carpet
what i really mean is that ad hate
to be that kyid again rollin along
crash barriers at some gig in the union
while the country is sold by the furlong
drinkin what i made at my forst communion
on a nightly basis then starvin maself
of breakfast & lunch & good mental health
It is summer and we are still married. Law dictates that we can pitch a tent wherever we want....
Mall parking lot becomes dodgeball court, 2 vs 20
Opposition’s fitted sheet fingers cover king-size stones
Boys’ backs clamp against the storefront window
Their propeller limbs swatting, foreheads pouring blood
and sweat like broken soda dispensers
Spectators flaunt their yellow-corn teeth,
as they sing Boom Bye Bye; supporters
whispering invocations and protective medleys
Not once did the boys cry out for God
Police wait for the whiff of oak coffins
before they whisk the boys away in their Jeep;
and the names of all the girls I crush on at school
clank like crockery, 11-year-old-me vows to avoid
bursting lips and wailing skin
