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Cerebral Contents: Update for 05.13.08: Backsliding by Cynthia Ruth Lewis 05.05.08: Five Feet and Building by Joel Van Noord Grocery Aisle by Richard Lighthouse Cross the Road by Ashok Niyogi 04.29.08: The Modern Covenant by Daniel E. Wilcox Death by Onions by Michael Frissore 04.21.08: Future's Children by Kimberly Raiser Identity Theft by George Anderson A Great Deal of Money by Justin Hyde 04.14.08: Mr. Papaya and Dale by Eric Suhem California by Caroline Imreibe Aftermath of Vehement Argument #1,068 by Cynthia Ruth Lewis Trip-Hammer Vitality by Lisa Nickerson 04.07.08: The Florence of Basel, or Why Readers of Nietzsche Need to Read Burckhardt by Jeff Crouch Friends of the Poet by Sean C. Bowen Picture Perfect by Leah Baldwin 03.24.08: Staring Down a White-Tailed Doe by Aleathia Drehmer 03.17.08: The Hairbrush by Vernard Kennedy Dog Days of Winter by Niall Berkeley Poem From My Grave by Michael Lee Johnson Mashed Potatoes and Hamburgers by Matt Finney 03.10.08: Hard Work by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal Jetty Cake Pigs by J.D. Nelson |
Everybody Else by Willie Smith
So I hopped in my Caddy and fought traffic and tailgated a Rabbit – all the way cursing and screaming at commercials on the bubblegum. Got downtown in the goddamn thick of it. Squealed into a parking unit. Jackknifed out the passenger side. Loped into a spot. Occupied the last available stool, between a babbling Javaman and some Neanderthal guzzling joe. I ordered a Styrofoam of mud, plus Danish. Then told the waitress – a menopausal frazzle – I had come to shed a tear for Nixon. Open slid a panel between the men’s room and a dead jukebox jammed against a booth acrawl with salesmen. I ducked down, snuck in. The crawlspace narrowed to colon width, ringed with gristle, lit by natural gas... gasping, I fell to my knees – up on the wall, like a plastered saint, hung, trussed, the dog! I whipped out my Swiss. Worked fast, choking in the gloom. Hacked a piece of tail. Gagged down a hair. Then wormed – on my last atom of breath – outta that warp. Stretched my spine. Blinked in the suddenly ordinary light. The juke, caressed by some unknown quarter, sprang to life. To the brim the spot filled with a howl about a dog. I was nervous as ever. But now, thanks to sheer doggedness, I could handle the pack. I cracked a knuckle. Swiveled elbows. Rotated cuffs. Boogied on back to the cool mud, pasting my lips with pastry. At last, I was like everybody else – seeing the dog, babbling everything but.
______________________________________ posted 03.03.08. |
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