Portrait | Roger W. Hecht | The Piltdown Review



The beast bent on my destruction

Grows hairs from its pores, shaggy,

malkempt. Sharp blades cut them

but they cut back. Salt liquids pool

At the corner of its eyes, rims rage red,

Irritants all it sees. Its teeth twist like trees

Bent by competing winds, roots muscle roots

& between the beaten stumps meat remnants,

a hint of rot. Its head teeters on iron posts,

the whole apparatus creaks in the wind & on windless

days it howls at the hurricane churning in its skull,

the blind eye seeking but never recognizing

the sources of its rage when it glares at the mirror

in the bathroom steam hissing that’s me, that’s me.  



More Remarkable Finds
By Then

By Then

Where did you go? my father asked from the bed I sat beside when I told him I was back. I told him I went home to fetch the family.
Long Eared Owl: Refuse Container Outside the Metropolitan Museum

Long Eared Owl: Refuse Container Outside the Metropolitan Museum

Raking cracked leaves by the Met Museum. A paper like an Order for unsealing in a canister came in: they found your father’s father on the roadside.
My House

My House

Let me give you my address so that if you are in the neighborhood you can drive by, see if they’ve repainted.



  • Donald Trump’s Toe Tag
    a poem by Roger W. Hecht
  • What an embarrassment, what kind of grace
    a poem by Rose Auslander
  • Funeral Practices of the Flooded Valley
    a story by Matthew Talamini
  • What a Wonderful World
    a poem by David Mills
  • Care and Feeding of Your Piano
    a story by William Shunn
Track your submissions at Duotrope