the wax paper


Chad Lutz


This could be our big bag of money,

but she’s never been very good with kids.

This thirty-year veteran is batting a big 0

so why should we be expected to hit

a fucking homerun?

They’re making bids on paintings

five times the amount

I’ve ever made in three months

my entire life.

Then they retreat

to the bathroom,

talk about how much they love God

and the tits on the other guy’s wife,

or how drunk they are.

Another bathroom scene:

this one of a housewife wearing


a dress which takes

not one but two wraps

not one but two girdles

just to slip into.

“I’m just trying to be low-key this year.”

She also said, “I can’t sit down.”

At school,

their kids give us colds

and bounce around on candy;

Little Hoover Hoosiers

Indiana wouldn’t claim.

Five-years old

and already fondling each other;

they want to know why Ms. Jenn

hasn’t had babies.

“I thought everybody that’s an adult has them.”


we’re dining with their parents,

at a five-star gala

held at the Ritz-Carlton

in The City,


 a good used car

couldn’t sell for

parading around

in the hellish mood lighting.

It’s an illusion,

but I’ve been here,

I know this place,

and I taste it in

the vegetarian quinoa

Portobello burger deconstruction

sitting on my luxury,




the illusion being

that we only look like

we fit in,

when we do.

Chad W. Lutz was born in Akron, Ohio, in 1986 and raised in the neighboring suburb of Stow. They graduated from Kent State University in 2008 and Mills College in Oakland, California, in with an MFA in Creative Writing in 2018.