Fred Johnson teaches literature and film courses at Whitworth University in Spokane. He always thinks there's going to be something amazing in abandoned places and among discarded things, and sometimes there is. His poetry has appeared recently in Relief and in Sugar House Review.
A poem by Fred Johnson
I watch the first time he opens the door on his own. I watch the first time he opens the door easy. I’ve been waiting for Elvis to go fuzzy, it’s fall, there’s low sunlight, and they need to look him up, spell p-r-e-s-l-e-y, but there are mean, mean drums on the stereo— a shook […]
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