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I stop reading when Andrew asks me if West Side Story
Needs a kitten gang.
Of course. And puppies belong in Dr. Strangelove,
Which Andrew says was supposed to end in a pie fight
While the world explodes in a conflagration of nuclear war.

I have not had enough coffee.
There is no such thing.

We should watch Alien
And Aliens, but not the one in which Sigourney Weaver
Gives birth to aliens.
That isn’t even a good movie
And I would dream of ticks laying eggs in my left shoulder.

This is maybe the most surreally appropriate conversation I’ve ever had.

The Hottest Summer in Recorded History exemplifies Bachinsky’s wit. In addition to being laugh-out-loud funny and frequently startling, these poems deftly join Bachinsky’s sense of surreal irony with a sincerity that hasn’t always worked so seamlessly in her previous collections. It’s Bachinsky’s best book to date, and one of the top five books of poetry I’ve read this year (and I have read some good ones).

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