Nate Logan


You jog through the park during a Civil War reenactment, step on a dismembered hand clutching a pistol and it does not go boom. This little miracle makes you feel good. Your shoes are not stained by gunpowder or Confederate entrails. You express this joy to your running buddy, who says, “Oh, just you wait.” And you think that’s a pretty weird thing to say. Here you are: a gorgeous day, a choir of muskets adding oomph to your David Lee Roth tape, your jacket keeping you properly ventilated, and your friend says, “Oh, just you wait.” The two of you pass thrusting Union swords. Mock screams begin to outnumber gunshots. If your friend waved his white sweatband, it would not count as surrender. You eye him, now a bayonet length away. You want to say the missing lawn gnome is your doing. You want to say he has a dumb haircut. You want to say his wife finds your track suit very attractive. But you don’t. Instead, you smile a little. You let him go ahead as your feet inch closer to the dark, the trees dripping smoke.


Nate Logan was born and raised in Indianapolis, IN. His recent work appears in BOAAT and Ghostwriters of Delphi. With Laura Theobald, he edits Spooky Girlfriend Press.