John Kersey

John Kersey lives in Chicago with his wife and their daughter. He teaches creative writing at Elgin Community College. More work of his can be found in the Fall 2012 issue of Fifth Wednesday Journal.
The Weather

GIVE TIE AWAY

Monday. Laren, Beardo, and I have shown up early to taste the seasonal wines. Beardo introduced himself last Saturday, but he came upon me from behind while I was stretched up towards the Roman cornice crowning…

The Weather

Holy Space

Waiting for campers to leave, I polish off one bottle and half another of the restaurant’s coldest, cheapest white. Soon I’m across the street where the quiet back room is closed for a private party. I…

Books

Don’t Let Me Be Lonely

I’ve seen these women before. At coffee shop tables, writing in notebooks and dreaming out the windows, an almost magisterial aloneness about them. My hand locked around a glass of beer, I’ve stared longingly through smoke-filled…

The Weather

Get Some Happy

An insistent chill whips in off Lake Michigan, assaults me from all directions and angles, not clumsily, like a teenage lover, but depravedly, alarmingly scornful of foreplay. I veer off Halsted’s wide alley and head home…

The Weather

God is a Drowner

After dinner service Laren and I languish on barstools, in the back room across the street. “Did you ever think you’d wind up stuck in something like this?” she asks. I consider this. “I can’t remember…

Books

Monsters in Moon Mountains

The protagonist of I. J. Kay’s debut novel, Mountains of the Moon, is an Englishwoman named Louise (Lulu) Alder. Or Kim Hunter, Beverley Woods, Jackie Birch, Dawn Redwood, Catherine Clark; some of her names are aliases…

The Weather

Lobito

“Lobito!” The Line hollers at me when I walk into the kitchen. Translated, my nickname means little baby wolf; it has something to do with my facial hair, something to do with my prominent canines, something…

The Weather

Last Call

At the bar across Halsted, a girl breathes into my ear that tonight I served her and her date. I knew her date, Spiro, a pompadoured forty-something who dines twenty-somethings on Fridays. “He ordered an Americano,”…

The Weather

Talc

Sweating horribly. Something new. Clear a table, pile three of the most heavy, osso buco plates, and beads run down the ridge of my nose. Carry a case of Chianti up from the liquor room and…

The Weather

A Serious Man

From my apartment it’s four Chicago blocks to Luna, the Italian restaurant where I work. I store my uniform there beside a chest freezer in the basement, where it hangs from some exposed piping that drips…