Soap dissolves molecule

by molecule, runnels toward


the drain and disappearance.

The skin is core, outer the inner,


so only the shrinking,

—rounding, slipping form—


tells the age and use in water’s

cascade over body,


as it strips itself of perfumed

lye and fat rendered in most


from old flesh that loses in discrete

layers, hide to muscle to


bone and, as dross, will never take

the cleansing it yields to those


under the tap whose cells slough

to current washing all away

John Zedolik

For thirteen years John taught English and Latin in a private all-girls school. Eventually, he wrote a dissertation that focused on the pragmatic comedy of the Canterbury Tales, thereby completing his Ph.D. in English. Currently, he is an adjunct instructor at Chatham and Duquesne Universities in Pittsburgh, PA, USA. However, he has had many jobs in his life including archaeological field assistant, obituary writer, and television-screen-factory worker, which—he hopes—have contributed in positive and intriguing ways to his writing. He has had poems published in such journals as Aries, Ascent Aspirations (CAN), The Chaffin Journal, Common Ground Review, The Journal (UK), Pulsar Poetry Webzine (UK), Third Wednesday, U.S. 1 Worksheets, and in thePittsburgh Post-Gazette. He also has numerous poems forthcoming this year in a variety of publications. His iPhone is now his primary poetry notebook, and he hopes his use of technology in regard to this ancient art form continues to be fruitful.