title: The Aftermath, etc.
author: Get in the car Helen
description: The Aftermath, etc. is a rare look at the broken man in his natural environment: a wasteland of pizza, shark flicks, porn and beer . . . his only escape is through the pen, and if it were not so, the fine art of handmade explosives. --Andi Todaro<br /><br />The Aftermath, etc. goes after the topic of romantic love with a meat cleaver and a machete. --Olatundji Akpo-Sani, Baobob Tree Press<br /><br />In The Aftermath, etc. , poet Rob Geisen (writing as Get in the car, Helen) mounts an astoundingly affectionate all-out assault on heterosexual male grief and loss and does so in a way that draws upon an array of comedic surreal phanopoetic vernacular traditions. Amped up by accurate, lyric, mass media hysterics as well as a naked, private despair, this series of poems to/of 'Helen' simultaneously appear as glittery and vapid as an extended Geico commercial, yet as rich and transformative as the 'idiot' Trungpas of the Mishap Lineage. --Jim Cohn, author of The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter<br /><br />The Aftermath, etc. goes after the topic of romantic love with a meat cleaver and a machete. --Olatundji Akpo-Sani, Baobob Tree Press<br /><br />In The Aftermath, etc. , poet Rob Geisen (writing as Get in the car, Helen) mounts an astoundingly affectionate all-out assault on heterosexual male grief and loss and does so in a way that draws upon an array of comedic surreal phanopoetic vernacular traditions. Amped up by accurate, lyric, mass media hysterics as well as a naked, private despair, this series of poems to/of 'Helen' simultaneously appear as glittery and vapid as an extended Geico commercial, yet as rich and transformative as the 'idiot' Trungpas of the Mishap Lineage. --Jim Cohn, author of The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter
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  Their eyes met on a singe of memory.
  
  Feeling the ache of the day in his soul, Max was close enough to see the
  wariness in Raine’s expression. “It’ll be okay,” he said, knowing it probably
  wouldn’t be. “We’ll get through this.” Almost without thinking, he took her
  hands, and squeezed them when he felt the shocky cold of her skin. “I’m here
  for you.”
  
  I’m here for you, he’d said back at Boston General, giving her reassurance
  when she’d needed it, when she’d had nobody on her side. She’d leaned on him
  when she’d needed him, and left when she hadn’t.
  
  A familiar pattern.
  
  He pulled his hands away abruptly and stood. “Come on,” he said gruffly, more
  mad at himself than her. “The SUV’s outside.”
  
  “What about your truck?” She stood, and the worried questions in her eyes
  asked about more than just the truck. What’s next? Where do we go from here?
  
  
    
    
  
  
  
  
  
  JESSICA ANDERSEN
  
  UNDER THE MICROSCOPE
  
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  To Sally Hi