The Absence of Light
God works in mysterious ways, Father said.
But he’s not half as mysterious as your mother.
He said, Let there be light. And there was light.
I don’t see anything mysterious about that.
He did what He said He’d do.
Your mother says, Let’s not be late for the movie.
Yet she takes so long getting dressed
that it doesn’t pay to go. Then she
gets mad that I don’t take her any place.
God created light where there was only darkness.
She only creates confusion.
Chopped-Off Arm
Don’t stick your arm out the window,
Mother said. Another car can sneak up
behind us, & chop it off. Then your father
will have to stop, stick the severed piece
in the trunk, & drive you to the hospital.
It’s not like the parts of your telescope that
snap back on. A doctor will have to sew it.
You won’t be able to wear short sleeves.
You won’t want anyone to see the stitches.
Achieving Closure
You’re both trying to achieve closure
in this relationship, my therapist said.
You want to marry her. She wants
to break up with you. And I think
she’s going to prevail, because
it’s a lot easier for her to break up
with you than it is for you
to marry her. You’ll have to buy her
a ring, go for a blood test, & get
both families involved. All she has
to do is not see you again. And
it seems like she has already started doing that.
The first time I heard Hal Sirowitz reading his poetry was a revelation. His deadpan delivery, and self-deprecating humor, and domestic neurosis had the audience laughing like they were at a comedy club. (He reminded me of the comedian Steven Wright.)
Hal rose to prominence as a regular at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe during the 1990s slam poetry boom. Although seeing Hal read in person was definitely the way to go, he was not what you think of as a "performance poet."
Born in Manhattan and raised in Queens, Sirowitz’s work is rooted in the Jewish-American experience and the specific rhythms of NYC. He was best known for three collections of poems written in the voice of authority figures, including his mother, father, and therapist. All three offered unsolicited, guilt-ridden, and often absurd advice.
Put a Little Enjoyment in Your Life
All work and no play
makes Jack a dull boy,”
Father said, “which is why
we didn’t name you Jack.
We chose Harold. It means
‘Life’ in Hebrew, “Chaim.”
Please show more signs of it.
It’s too late to change names.
That poem and the others used as models on the website this month are available on Hal's website. Sirowitz is the author of five books of poetry: Mother Said, My Therapist Said, Father Said, Before, During & After and Stray Cat Blues.
Hal retired from a three-decade career as a New York City public school special education teacher. He then moved with his wife, the writer Minter Krotzer, to Philadelphia.
Hal Sirowitz passed away on February 24, 2024, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, at the age of 75. His death was the result of complications from Parkinson’s disease, a condition he lived with for over two decades. Despite the physical toll of the illness, Hal continued to engage with the literary community and write, often with the support of his wife, the writer Minter Krotzer.
For the March 2026 issue, we are asking that you use Hal's style of short poems (14 lines or less) in the voice of someone (of some authority) giving advice. You should include his stylistic "said" that identifies the speaker. Is the advice unsolicited, guilt-ridden, or absurd? Perhaps. But it could also be valid, but unwanted, or only known to be useful at a later date.
Hal Sirowitz (1949–2020) was an American poet whose work fused deadpan humor, emotional candor, and the rhythms of stand-up comedy into a distinctive literary voice. He studied with the poet Stanley Kunitz, an experience that helped shape his commitment to clarity, narrative directness, and emotional truth. Sirowitz went on to become a familiar presence in New York’s poetry scene, reading widely and teaching for many years in the public schools through Teachers & Writers Collaborative.
His first published collection, Mother Said (1996), brought him broad recognition. His final collection, The Pain Is When You’re Not Here (2019), reflects a late-career deepening of tone. While retaining his trademark wit and spare style, the poems confront aging, loss, and mortality with an unadorned honesty that feels both intimate and universal.
Sirowitz’s style is marked by short lines, plainspoken language, and a narrative structure that often reads like a monologue delivered to a live audience. Beneath the humor lies a sharp awareness of insecurity, love, family conflict, and the absurdities of modern life. His poems are disarmingly simple on the surface, yet emotionally layered—inviting laughter, recognition, and, often, a sting of self-reflection.
The deadline for submissions for the next issue is February28, 2026.
Please refer to our submission guidelines
and look at our archive of more than 300 prompts and poems. Follow our
blog for prompts and many topics in poetry.
