Lisa Vihos

CONTACT:
Email: spyderbtye@aol.com
Visit her blog at Frying the Onion
Photo Courtesy: Lisa Lehmann

BIO:
The poems of Lisa Vihos have appeared in Big Muddy, The Camel Saloon, Forge, Main Street Rag, Mom Egg, Red Cedar, Red Fez, Seems, Verse Wisconsin, Wisconsin People and Ideas, and Y.A.R.N. She has two Pushcart Prize nominations. Lisa is the Poetry and Arts Editor of Stoneboat Literary Journal and an occasional guest blogger for The Best American Poetry. She lives in Sheboygan and is an organizer there for 100 Thousand Poets for Change. 

PUBLICATIONS:
A Brief History of Mail (Pebblebrook Press, 2011) – received honorable mention in WFOP's 2012 chapbook contest.

The Accidental Present (Finishing Line Press, 2012)

This Particular Heaven, forthcoming Aldrich Press

Poetry

Lesson at the Check Point

Please be advised that snow globes
are not allowed through the security check point.

                        --LaGuardia Airport sign

Is this because of the snow? Or because of the little houses
that nestle inside the snow?

I imagine it is because of the liquid
and the potential to inject an explosive

through the dome of the glass. Evil is inserted every day
into our minds, under our skin, through the iCloud,

through layers of data that shred the ozone
(an ozone held together by scotch tape, chicken wire

and American Idol.)  One day, someone picks us up,
shakes us, and all hell breaks loose. Worlds collide.

The very equilibrium we once believed in,
cast aside by a wave of the hand. While some God,

somewhere, waits at a check point, watching
for the terrorist in each of us,

wary of small things, like six ounce jars
of olive spread, beard trimming scissors, and yes, 

snow globes. These things tucked in between the socks
and underwear, waiting to destroy us.

This poem won First Place in the 2015 Wisconsin People and Ideas Poetry Contest