Author Archives: Adam Stone

About Adam Stone

Adam Stone got into poetry to impress someone he no longer talks to. Author of "The Desert Island Your Favorite Albums Washed Up On" and "Psalms For The Vacant", Adam also edited "Twenty Years Of Poetry At The Cantab Louge" and has been narrowly published in a variety of anthologies, including "Flicker And Spark: A Contemporary Queer Anthology Of Spoken Word And Poetry". He is the long-suffering bartender at The Cantab, as well as it's most frequent and longest reigning Champion Of Champions. When he's too exhausted for wordplay, he sells comics at the second oldest comic book retailer in the world. This doesn't bring him as much joy as you'd imagine.

Honest Conversation is Overrated #2: Unboxing Days


About half the people who go into a retail store on any given day have no idea what they’re looking for. Some have the patience to ask the staff for assistance or get advice from customers who are happy to dispense advice, but many turn their frustration into an airborne virus and will not rest until every customer and employee want nothing more than to flee the store. Continue reading

Honest Conversation is Overrated – Part 1: Endgame

View_of_Comic_Books_in_Adventures_Underground,_Richland_WAMy boss calls the area where our register is “The Comm”, as though our store was The USS Enterprise, and not a basement comic book store with a computer that runs on Windows 98 and crossed fingers.

When he asks me to “take The Comm”, he means one of three things: 1.) He is about to leave for an indeterminate amount of time and wants to make sure I know he’s leaving; 2.) Someone he finds stressful is going approach the counter, and he doesn’t want to deal with them; or 3) Someone he finds interesting has entered the store and he would rather talk to them than ring up someone’s stack of Vampirella comics.

Most often, it’s options one or three, as my boss is not only almost criminally patient but also one of the more popular people working in our neighborhood. Probably because he’s almost criminally patient. Certainly, he’s criminally negligent patient.

I used to be patient, too. I used to be a nanny for a group of three boys so enraging that I once saw a Buddhist Monk come about a quarter of an inch from stabbing one of the kids in the eye with a stick of vanilla bean incense. But sixteen years of waiting tables and twenty years of working retail have taught me how to smile and talk with the presence of a fascinated journalist while imagining how happy a customer’s family will be at the customer’s funeral. “Sure,” they’ll say, “Uncle Bill had his good points. He left me his ninety foot Colombian sloop in his will, and two out of his seven children probably won’t go back to prison again in their lifetime. Still, I can’t help but think how much better our lives will be now that he was found with his vas deferens scarfed around his neck and his prostrate stuffed into his left nostril. The only real question is, what do we do with all his Nazi Fetish Pornography?” Continue reading

Three Poems – Adam Stone


Scruffy Is Dead

No matter how much you hate a person
it is considered disrespectful to exhibit joy
                                     in their death
When my grandmother’s dog
whose howls and death had disguised her own
            howls and death finally ceased
We who loved her more than we hated
                        her fucken dog
              had hoped he would outlive her
Not for the satisfaction of putting the dog down
but so that we would never have to hear his absence
when she answered her phone and
                asked when we would visit

 Continue reading