Suicide Sidewalks

past the pond sealed with algae
down on Oakland Park Boulevard and
State Road 7 where the children play
in the tattered streets
in front of the bruised homes
with a deflated
ball on the suicide sidewalks
gutted by pot-holes and long
dead fathersÑ courage, her face
shows courage, and years, hollowed
out by a dead and dying family, a house
unbuilding itself, deconstructing under
the pinch of a needle, the last daughter
collapsing in the bathroom, eyes rolling
back in pleasure. the mother’s slow stride,
her eyes, caving from the inside out,
destitute drags on her cigarettes, trapped
in America the tragic, dreaming of America
the magic, imagining a world where her daughter
will eat instead of feed,
praying for a place where her dead daughter
is still alive, sitting on the worn sofa, suturing
all her wounds. to have enough life to go
living, to have enough stars so that
she doesn’t need a skyÑ she gets down
on her knees and she prays and she weeps
and she breathes raggedly.
She is hungry but sold her food stamps
for money so she could pay for her
living daughter’s last uninsured
hour long stay in the hospital.
(Charcoal)
She watches through
the window as the children play
in front of the bruised homes
with a deflated
ball on the suicide sidewalks
gutted by pot-holes and long
dead fathers.

late for school

My 17 year old daughter ran her car into a snow bank this morning and we had the tow truck and the police car there and all the traffic backed up in two directions, and it was raining hard and I’m picking lights and pieces of plastic and rubber out of the snow and she’s looking at her watch and saying, “Dad I’m late for school, let’s go.”

Jester

He lay on the cold marble table. His face was twitching, his paws fitfully moving as if chasing a mouse in his dreams. He wasn’t an animal to her; he was her life. Some women went home to their husbands, or children, or both, she went home to her cat. It was the best time of Vera’s day, the best time of her life really. She couldn’t be happier with the way things were. Vera figured being married would just muck up her plans. She was slowly climbing the corporate ladder. She wanted her own house; she even had her cat’s room all planned out.
Jester would have a windowsill to sit on during the day so he could bask in the wonderful California sun. She would come home to the blissful music of a purring, sun kissed cat.
He was the most unique cat she’d ever encountered: beautifully striped and strong like a sphinx. His soft fur trailed from his eyes down to the tip of his nose in a white and brown pattern, which left a brown spot like a soft furry freckle. His paws were framed with white like little mittens.
She watched Jester breathe as his body moved up and down, rhythmically. This was truly a creature of God, she thought. So beautiful, lean, and strong like a loving protector of a kingdom.
Vera dreamily thought that with a cat there’s no embarrassment, he can be in the bathroom with you, or in your room at the most intimate of times and it doesn’t matter, you know he’s watching you, but you don’t care. She’d always felt that way.
She told co-workers, “I’ll need to take vacation time when my cat eventually dies.”
“How old is he?” They would ask her.
She replied, “About 12ÉYou go home to your husband and kids; I go home to my cat. It may sound strange to you, but that’s who I go home to and he means as much to me as a husband would.”
No one said anything to Vera’s reply. She didn’t care if they understood or not. In some ways she was going home to more than they were.
Vera always believed that when a woman was married and would wake up in the night crying and distraught her husband would probably sleep through it, whereas a cat would come and cry with her, rubbing against her, nuzzling her. A cat was a comfort that couldn’t be replaced. Husbands were replaced every day.

“I wonder what he’s dreaming about?” Vera said, talking to herself, as she pensively stared at the cat. She cradled the cat in her arms asking him, “What are you thinking about, Jester?”
He replied by rubbing his head against her hand, enticing her to pet him. His soft fur felt like cotton against her skin.
His favorite spot was underneath the covers with her on a cool winter night. He curled against her body feeling comfort and warmth like a child in a womb: safe and secure, hidden from the dangers of the outside world. At least Vera thought so.
He was born in her basement. She even had what she jokingly called baby pictures’ of him. He was her baby.
Maybe I’m crazy or maybe the world’s crazy. But is it crazier to be bonded for life with a man laying next to you that you barely know, or to love an animal that will sit there with you providing comfort if you wake up at 3 a.m. and can’t go back to sleep? Vera wondered that but knew the answer before even thinking the question. She had thoughts like these often.
Vera came home from work one night and saw her apartment complex brimming with bright red flames, flowing through all the windows like liquid. She asked one of the firemen in front of her complex about her cat, hoping he was or would be saved, hoping the fireman cared.
“I’m sorry ma’am, we found no cat and there’s still a boy in apartment #3 that’s unaccounted for.” The fireman told Vera in one monotonous stream.
She dropped to her knees as a small noise escaped her lips. She seemed to forget how to speak.
”I’m sorry ma’am,” The fireman repeated looking down at Vera.
She looked up at him with swollen red eyes that aged her. Her makeup was smeared and she was still on her knees in the dirt, immobile. Her hands fluttered to her face and she looked at them as if they belonged on someone else’s body.
“I’m sure there are plenty of cats that would be lucky to have you as an owner, why don’t you go to the shelter and save one, as well as yourself?” The fireman asked her, now looking up at the burning building.
She looked over at him with vacant eyes and replied, “Husbands can be replaced, but a cat is forever.”
His face contorted as he walked away speechless.

Vera awoke the next morning in a strange bed by a man she didn’t know telling her she was going to be late for work.
“Who are you?” She asked, clasping the sheets over her naked body.
Before he had a chance to reply she cut in, “Where is Jester, my cat?”
She glanced around the room and then looked up at him.
“We’ve never had a cat sweetheart, remember I’m allergic?” His voice trailed off as he walked toward the bathroom. “Hurry up or you’ll be late,” he said, his voice echoing through the hall.
Vera looked over at the nightstand still disoriented, and saw a wedding picture of the strange man and her.
Vera rolled over tightly shutting her eyes, rubbing her hands over her face as if washing away a bad dream.

The next thing she knew she was waking up in a hospital bed. “What happened? Where am I?” She asked the nurse.
“Oh dear. You’ll be ok sweetie, it’s just going to take some time.” The nurse replied.
“Time for what?” Vera asked. She looked up and the nurse was gone. She noticed a clipboard at the foot of the bed, grabbed it with the tips of her fingers, barely reaching it, and laid back down to read it.
The vocabulary was foreign to her. Within the contents of the paper she was able to make out: Patient admitted and received Ativan intravenously for sedationÉsevere memory loss, psychotic episodes, and possible psychophrenia. Patient will need psychological evaluation for releaseÉ
“Where’s my cat? Where the hell is my cat?” Vera screamed hysterically from her bed.
A nurse came running in, “Honey, we’ve been trying to tell you, there never was a cat.”
“He was in a fire at my apartment complex, but was never found.”
The nurse looked at Vera and said, “Honey you don’t live in an apartment.”
“But my catÉ” Vera’s voice trailed off as she looked out the window starring at nothing.

More to Lips than a Kiss

dare I say it?

I.

driven herded
Cherokee people
1000 mile Trail of Tears
draped
in
rags
starving
exhausted
carrying their babies
their sick
their dying
dogsfollowed
stopping
to tear into collapsed bodies
fighting
for morsels of dead and dying flesh
muzzles smeared
with blood, bones, sinew, wasted muscle

II.

escaped slaves recaptured
returned
to bondage
to humiliation
to torture
for mere bounty

a few lucky ones
survived the Underground Railroad
to Canada
to the mountains
to freedom

III.

Mexican refugees
head north
seeking
jobs
housing
education
human dignity
for their children

they
dig tunnels
crowd into boats
cross deserts
hide under trucks
swim rivers
crawl through sewers

there are so many illegal aliens here,
lamented an irate resident of suburbia
very recently
we’re rapidly becoming the next third world country!

IV.

dare I say it?
To the huddled masses yearning to breathe free:
head northwest
go to Canada
go now!
to the mountains
to pure water
to clean air
and vast open spaces
and
freedom

burial mounds

après ski, warm up with
cognac
rosé d’anjou
vouvray
sancerre
in crystal-stemmed goblets reflecting the fire’s glow

not far from
steak tartar
duck d’orange
filet mignon
served on limoges, artfully garnished

not far from midnight
rumtopf
mosaic bande
cherry meringue flambé
yes,
nearby all this
huddle homeless bundles of discarded humanity
curled in fetal position
shivering under filthy blankets and rags
buried alive

walk by
this shadowy presence
hunched in darkened doorways
don’t avert your eyes
you MUST look
you MUST linger
until:
you can no longer feel your extremities
until:
your eyes burn and ache
until:
your face feels as though it might crack
if you dare speak

now:
before frozen mucus glues your nostrils shut
inhale deeply
do this quickly
and remember:
the urine you smell
was once warm

POEM FOR A FRIEND IN PRISON

hello Joe
I could handle the name change
but they keep transferring you
to so many different units
that I’m running out of space
in my address book
and now they’re shuttling you
from prison to prison
I know this is America
but this is a bit too much
even for a pro like me
all these prisons being built
like factory assembly lines
I mean there’s only so many
license plates one can make
makes no sense to me
you ask how I’m doing
which is kind of you
given your own circumstances
I’m confined to my own prison
even if there are no keepers
where life has become a surreal movie
with nothing but bit actors
like those old sing-a-longs
they flashed on the movie screen
when I was a kid
follow the bouncing ball
but I can’t and couldn’t then
carry a note
it’s a hard life brother
on the inside on the outside
part of the problem lies with the
judges who must be poor mathaticians
when it comes to handing out time
and what the fuck is the world coming to
when poets shun writing for e-mail?
the old man down on Market Street
the one with no legs and a skateboard
has more balls than the President
this is a bitch of a poem
not a bitching poem
I know you know the difference
even if the jailers don’t
thirsting after your blood
like a junkie lab technician
stepping on over and around
dead bodies
looking for live spirits to bury
I wish I could tell you there’s
light at the end of the tunnel
but there isn’t
the new Governor believes
in Capital Punishment
as if death were a spanking
or being sent to bed without supper
I’ve got to get me a new dictionary
the one I have must have belonged
to Bill Clinton with all
its tortured definitions
the message of America
can’t be found
on Mount Rushmore
it’s written in blood
at the Texas Book Depository
I know this guy who believes
if we reduce the world population
by a third and close our borders
there would be enough food
for everyone in the world
too much breeding he said
but this same man breeds
killer dogs and has five children
and another on the way
it’s the kind of shit
that’s driving me sane
just when I was getting the
insane part down to perfection
I feel like I’m the lone survivor
standing on the deck of the Titanic
destined to walk the ocean floor
with a fish womb reality
better watch it brother
you might get what
you wish for:
a new trial
a new judge a new jury
but would the outcome
be any different
The D.A. should wear
a black robe
a wig and powder his cheeks
bend over and beg forgiveness
what’s left of Eliot Nessâ old gang
could take on the Wise Guys
outside the courthouse
hell, I might even buy a ticket
mouth a few obscenities
to take the edge off the hype
we are born we die
we spend time in between
be it behind or outside the walls
and the prisons keep getting built
and all I can do about it is write
these “bitching” poems to an audience
who does nothing but bitch
sometimes I think I’m a retarded
space alien put here by a superior race
you on the inside me on the outside
inner parts of a human computer waiting
to be blinked from the screen

gothic girl (revisited)

she smiled, blood between her teeth
she smiled again
and I couldnt help but stare

she gave off a musk in place of trust
you couldnt hold her or remember her enough
she tattooed in her sleep

she smiled
blood between her teeth
and lingered

she bled almost at will
she laughed
but not like you think

her handwriting broke its own
hands, like birds finishing something
as they appeared

she named the radio
and painted shadows on the teacups
she threw her heart against the wall

she was out of luck
she thought more clearly backwards
and thrived at the worst of moments

the widow left her apartment without a scream
she had seen
the blood, the ink, the girl

Emma’s Peach

Emma sat, staring at the plastic spoon for twenty minutes before realizing what she was doing. She had the urge to shove it down her throat and end it right there. She knew she had no business being a mother. There was a reason she and Andy couldn’t have kids— they would be terrible awful, selfish parents. But there she was, in a hospital room down the hall from a 15-year-old girl who was in the long, loud arduous process of having a baby who would be snatched from her arms upon birth and discharged into Emma’s.
Oh my God, Em! You gotta come in and watch this! Oh my God! I saw the head, Em! Our baby’s head, Emily! Andy’s cheerleader-esque enthusiasm made her sick. Maybe because Emma felt like a failure as woman— barren and yet strangely proud of it. It was as if her body inherently knew she would ruin a child’s life; as so, it did not equip her properly for such an event.
Don’t call me Emily. You know I hate that. Only my mother calls me Emily. And no, I’m gonna stay here. I think it would make me sad to see the look on that poor girl’s face.
As she said it, she wasn’t sure which girl she meant. The far too sexually active 15 year-old, or the unassuming baby who was at the moment being shoved from the only home she knew, or herself.
Emma continued her staring contest with the plastic spoon, obviously better outfitted for shoveling Jell-O than entertaining expecting mothers. God, I’m going to be a mother. The thought sickened her to the core. Not the idea of motherhood— Emma always respected the take-charge soccer mom outbreak of the 90s. But seeing herself as a mom shook her entirely. She knew she would be awful. She didn’t own a mini-van. She didn’t cook casseroles. She was selfish and didn’t want to share her toys, life or husband with a needy, screaming, helpless person. Andy probably would be a good dad if he had the right partner, but Emma knew she would drag him down and inevitably make him fail, too.
Andy came from a big family. He craved having children. On his lunch break, he walked across the street and ate his sandwich and yogurt in the park. He watched new mothers carrying their babies too close and glaring at strangers. He was one of those strangers. He didn’t want to be. And he wanted Emma to be one of the overly protective mothers. He would walk back to his accounting job, the image of Emma cradling his child in his mind all day.

Emma lay down on the black metal-framed bed, noticing it was a lot softer than she expected. She stared at the ceiling. She counted the tiles, twice. Forty-two. She stared up at the clock, her eyes glazing over, until she fell asleep. Emma Rae fell asleep during the birth of her child.
Andy rushed in ready to yank Emma out of hiding to meet her new daughter, Mollie. They agreed on the name beforehand. Well, Andy liked it and it was good enough for Emma. No baby name books or suggestions from relatives. The first name spoken stuck. Mollie. She thought it might be a distant relative of Andy’s, or maybe after that actress he likes so much. Either way, Mollie it was. But, as Andy flew in, Emma was sleeping. She seemed completely unaware of the chaos down the hall. In fact, she seemed completely apathetic to the chaos down the hall. Andy stood there, stunned. He figured she had been acting strange because she was nervous, but nervous people don’t take catnaps during the birthing process. He was sick.
He glanced at the Tupperware bowl of fruit Emma had brought with them. The hospital called to tell them their daughter was about to be born, and Emma took the time to prepare a snack before she left to bring along. She hated that crap out of the vending machines. She cut up two apples, an orange and even sliced a few pieces of Honeydew.
Andy was about to sucker punch her with an apple to awaken the princess from sleep, when he opted for a plastic cup instead. From the pitcher, he poured some icy water meant to calm mommies down, and dumped it all over Emma’s face.
Get up Em. Your daughter was just born. Andy sulked into the hallway. A baby. We have a baby. It raced through his mind over and over. And she’s sleeping.
Emma didn’t even seem startled. She simply opened her eyes, grabbed some scratchy Kleenex from the box near her bowl of fruit, wiped her face, and walked out to meet Andy.
She looked at him. God he looks so sad. Emma honestly wished she could be excited for him. Excited with him. Mom and Dad walked hand and hand down the hall to meet Mollie. Andy stood back when they approached the nursery, and pushed Emma to the Plexiglas window. He pushed her to her daughter.
Mollie looked like a shriveled peach with a tuft of red hair laughing out of the top of her head. Emma hoped this moment would overwhelm her. And for a second, it did. The smallness of her. The newness of her. Andy’s squeaked from behind her. She took a few deep breaths and pleaded to keep this feeling. Keep the excitement. Keep the moment. She wanted to want her so bad. She wanted to be like the mothers in the park Andy told her about everyday. She wanted to be selfless. She wanted.
But, in a flash, the massive responsibility enveloped Emma one more time and woke her from her minor daydream.
Emma walked into the nursery and took a good long look at Mollie, who, for whatever reason, was being put in her care. Why she ever let Andy get involved with the idea of adoption, she’d never know. She always assumed no one in their right mind would entrust her with a life. She was wrong. Andy had won over the agency and the results stared Emma in the face. Andy’s enthusiasm and love for children made up for Emma’s before, but now it was her turn. She was the only mother this baby would ever know.
She began to panic.
She wanted to touch Mollie, but was scared. She stood over the small little fruit for a long time. Over an hour. Just looking. Inspecting every curve and each bump. Then, she lifted her hand, moved the pale blanket off Mollie’s miniature body and touched her face, ever so gently. And with her touch, Mollie simply disappeared. A puff of dust and the small over ripe peach was gone.
Andy. She’s gone. Emma’s black Prada shoes clicked loudly on the tiles of the hallway as she approached her husband.
I only touched her this time. Emma knew from the last time not to hold her baby, or rock her in her arms. But she thought, at least this time I can touch her face. But it was like the last time. Emma saw her little peach vanish before her eyes.
Andy was hoping this wouldn’t happen again, but deep down he knew it would play out the same way. They walked out of the hospital together, drove home in silence, and went about the next day like the ones before it.

Andy sat in the park. He couldn’t eat. He could barely breathe. A young mother walked by with a newborn in her arms. He wanted to hold someone too close, too. He began to cry for his lost blossom. His disappearing hope.

Café Tables

Blind Side

In the Diamond District, on 48th Street, Joey parked the Cadillac Deville. He lowered the zipper on his jump suit, removed the .38 from his shoulder holster and checked the action. Johnny, his partner, sat beside him. He kept banging his knees together like a child needing to pee.

“Just follow my lead”, Joey announced.

“I can handle it”, Johnny told him.

“Yeah. Right. Without me, you’d still be running numbers.”

“Bullshit” said Johnny, “I’d be doing fine, probably have my own crew.”

Joey looked through the windshield at the back of a UPS truck and rubbed his left eye with a fist.

“You don’t know it but you need me”, Johnny told him.

Joey grinned a little and folded his arms over the steering wheel. “How’s that?” he said.

“Because I make you feel better, that’s why. I’m small, you’re big. You know where I’m coming from? You have an inferiority complex man.” Johnny glanced across the street towards the Jewelry shop. “So when is this guy supposed to show anyhow?”

Joey checked his Rolex. “Lenny said eight o’clock.”

“Well if he’s blowing smoke, I got first dibs on his face. I could be nailing a waitress right now. Never liked that kid, talks too much shit.”

“Sure kid. You got first dibs. So who’s this broad?”

Johnny slid to the edge of his seat. “Works at the coffee shop, down by the pool hall. Big tits. Nice ass. You know who I mean? The one with the jugs”

Joey looked surprised. He laughed silently inside his chest. “Her? Tell me a guy she hasn’t sacked with and I’ll buy you a steak at Morton’s. Chick has a thing for mob guys.”

“That’s right” said Johnny, “And now she has a thing for me.”

Joey smiled. He looked at the Jewelry store than back at Johnny. “Just slap her around kid. Keep it ruff. And make sure you leave before the morning”

“See?” said Johnny.

“What?”

He pointed at his forehead. “Inferiority complex. Always in control.”

Suddenly, Joey’s smile faded and he pointed across the street. “There he is kid. Let’s get this bastard. C’mon.”

They both slammed their doors and ran down the crowded sidewalk. A Hasidic man, running twenty feet ahead, kept looking back. At the corner, Joey grabbed the man’s coat. He pressed the gun barrel into his back. “Do as I say” he said, “And you’ll live to see another Sabbath. Be a hero and I’ll drop you right here.”

Johnny caught up. He held his waist; breathing hard. “You nailed her too, didn’t you? I don’t freaking believe it”

Joey said, “Move it” to the Hasidic man and led him back to the car. He looked at Johnny walking by his side. “Drop it kid. She’s just a whore. Leave it at that.”

“Not anymore. I’m telling you she’s changed”

Joey put the Hasidic man in the back seat, slammed the door and got behind the wheel. He looked at Johnny sitting next to him.

“Right”, he said, “She’s changed”

On the floor, opened pints of Chinese food surrounded the ringing phone. I reached down from my bed and picked up the receiver. My head was throbbing. Lying next to me was a girl I’d met the night before at a bar. She was blond and young, probably half my age. I couldn’t remember her name.

“Simpson” I said.

“Good Morning kiddo”

I cleared my throat; adjusted my eyes. Larry worked the morning shift. I thankfully did not. “What’s up?” I said.

“Got a floater” he said, “Thought you’d like to know”.

“Where?”

“Where else?”

“Larry” I said, “Not now. I’m not in the mood.”

“South Street. Hand delivered. Guy looks fresh.”

“Anybody we know?”

“You know any Orthodox Jews?”

“No. Be there in twenty. Any press?” I asked.

“Not yet” he said. “And Simpson”

I scratched my beard and thought of waking the girl. She looked real good lying on her stomach. “What Larry?”

“Would you pick up some bagels and lox? I’m starving over here”

I laughed, said, “You got it”, and hung up. The guy had a way of cheering me up. As cops went, he was the best I knew. I nudged the girl awake and from behind slid myself inside her. What was her name? Susan, Sandra, Samantha. It was something with an S, wasn’t it? Oh the hell with it, I thought, it didn’t matter anyway.

An hour later I walked up the pier and ducked under the police tape. I took a knee by the body and noticed a missing hand and a dime sized hole between the eyes. A young crime scene investigator was taking close up pictures from different angles. Feet, head, torso. I put my sunglasses on and walked with Larry to the edge of the pier. We looked across the river at Long Island City, the Citibank building, the Coca-Cola sign, the Brooklyn Navy Yard. I heard waves sloshing against the wood pilings below us.

“What took you so long?” he said.

“Traffic”

Larry snickered. “I’m sure”, he said, “Don’t know how you do it”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Necessity”, I said.

“Twenty, thirty, how old was she?”

“Don’t ask.”

“So what’s your take on the floater?” he said.

I looked over my shoulder and saw two EMT guys bag the body, place it on a gurney and push it inside the back of an ambulance.

”Guy was most likely on the take, I imagine. Got deep and paid the price. Looks like a professional kill, all very clean.”

I looked back over the river.

“So you know the guy who did this?” he asked.

I patted his back and smiled. “No, but I will” I said, than walked down the edge of the pier away from the hub-hub, away from Larry. Sally’s her name. That’s it. Sally.

The re-make of The Exorcist was playing. It was the first show of the day. The theatre was empty. I found an aisle seat close to the door. The opening credits were flashing on the screen. Billy slid past my knees and sat two seats across. He was holding a large bucket of popcorn and a small soda. For a few minutes we said nothing and watched the movie. I heard him crunching popcorn, slurping his drink.

“Am I done?” he said

Three years ago I nabbed Billy on Grand Theft Auto. With his priors he was looking at fifteen to twenty. In exchange for a clean sheet, he’d agreed to go under cover. I grabbed a handful of his popcorn. “That depends Billy. What do you have?”

“Joey Palermo”

“Go on”, I said, “I’m listening”

“That Jewish guy you guys found?”

“Yeah”

“I’ll testify that Palermo did him”

“Why? All of a sudden you’re going to turn on Palermo? What’s the deal Billy? Something doesn’t sound Kosher here. No pun intended.”

The popcorn was addictive. I grabbed another handful.

He said, “If I do this, we’re good, right? You’ll set me up, a house, a decent job.”

“Yes Billy, just like I promised.”

I looked around the theatre to see if anyone could hear us. Except for an elderly couple sitting close to the screen the place was empty.

“I want to take a girl with me too. Can we do that? Can I take her with me? Give her a new identity?”

His motivation was becoming clearer. Of course there was a woman involved. I read this kid like a book.

“I’ll see what I can do Billy. Now tell me what went down with Palermo.”

He set his popcorn and soda down between us. He leaned over the seats, closer to my ear.

He said, “We got a tip on some diamond dealer, right; some player who needed some dough to roll a deal over or some shit like that. Said he’d have the money, plus the vig back to us in a week. Anyway, turns out the guy’s in over his head. So he starts stalling, you know, tells us to come back, that he’ll get the money, not to worry.”

I nodded and watched the movie. The priest was making his first appearance.

“So this guy disappears and Palermo’s loosing his shit. You know, he’s got a temper. So anyway, were looking all over town for this prick. So finally, this Lenny guy tells us where and when we can find him. So we pick him up, you know, right on the street and the guy gives us the same old story. Says he’s busted, doesn’t have a dime. Well, anyway, he’s got this briefcase cuffed to his wrist and Joeys telling him he’s gonna chop his hand off. Then everything went to hell man. Guy keeps stalling, giving us the same old story and Joey caps him in the head and chops his freaking hand off. Turns out the guy was carrying about million dollars worth of diamonds. A fucking million, would you believe it?”

I turned and looked at Billy. I could see the whites of his eyes, smell his after shave. “You got a murder weapon?”

“He threw it in the river by the pier”

“You’ll come down to the precinct and put this in writing?”

“Yeah”

I shook his hand. “Alright Billy, this is the one. After this you’ll be living far away from here. Just you and you’re girl. That’s what you want?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want”

I stood up and brushed the popcorn off my shirt and jeans. “Just out of curiosity”, I said, “Why now? Is this all about the girl? I mean, are your willing to do this all for her?”

He nodded.

“I hope she’s worth it” I said. That night I found a spot directly in front of my building. As I walked up the stairs to my apartment I smelled garlic and olive oil. Somebody, I thought, was actually cooking. Usually, the hall just smelled of body odor and dog. I pulled my cell phone out and pushed the speed dial for Larry. Feeling good from a few scotches, I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Palermo” I said

“No shit” Larry said, “Palermo, huh?”

“Yup, whacked the poor bastard over a debt”

“Who rolled on him?” he asked.

“Billy Toronto. Kid gave a written statement and agreed to testify”

“Man” Larry said, “We might be able to turn Palermo, nab some big boys with this”

“Yeah” I said. “We’ll pick him up tomorrow, by the cafŽ on Spring Street, right in front of his crew. Can’t wait to see the look on his face”

I went to open my door but it was already unlocked so I pushed it open and went inside. I’d never seen my apartment look so clean. It even smelled good, like potpourri or something. Wearing one of my white collared shirts and nothing else, Stacey stood by the stove, stirring a large pot of sauce. How did she know I was a sucker for that?

In the phone Larry said, “Eh, me and the boys are playing poker at Max’s. You coming?”

Stacey rushed over. She draped her arms over my shoulders and kissed me. “Not tonight Larry, kind of tied up”, I said.

“Traffic again?”

“Yup, absolutely brutal”

“Don’t know how you do it,” he said.

Rite of Passage

Call it a stoning
If you wish,

Amnesia runs strong
In the undercurrent.

In the morning it’ll
Feel like a kiss -

And sting all at
The same time.

Temple U

An Outing

Bob or Bill or Dave

Holly Day’s poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have most recently appeared in Canadian Woman Studies, Skyway News, and Ruah. She currently works as a reporter and a writing instructor in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and lives with her two children and husband. Her hobbies include skateboarding, crocheting, and trying to peaceably communicate with uncooperative vending machines.

ALMOST PERFECT ROMANCE

“Anyone else home?” Doug intended to waste no time.

Seventeen year-old Gwen shook her head. “No one but us.” She bit back a smile, her instincts ablaze.

“When will he be back?”

“Not until seven-ish.” Gwen perused the clock above the stove. She felt Doug’s eager eyes stroke her slender figure. “We have at least an hour.”

Doug’s tense shoulders slumped with relief. “Hong Kong is beautiful.” He jerked his denim jacket off, pitched it atop a kitchen chair. His taut muscles quivered under the tight, black T-shirt he wore. He stole a quick, curious gaze down the hall, toward her room. “Maybe I’ll take you there someday.”

Gwen listened with glassy-eyed attention. “I’d like that,” she said, surprised at her shy tone. At twenty-one, Doug preferred constant movement and change, he’d already taken several impressive adventures, accepting odd jobs along the way to support himself. Gwen cherished the exotic stories he brought back to the dull California town of Valencia.

As if reading the undercurrents of her thoughts, Doug shot one of his cocky grins toward her. “Brought you a little something.” He burrowed into his jean pocket and presented a small box to her.

As Gwen opened it her heart beat double time. “Earrings. Thank you. I love them.” She flung her arms around his neck, pecked him on the cheek. His arms refused to let her go; his eyes fell into dark slits. Gwen felt the wonderful yet awful jolt of desire rush to the pit of her stomach. No one made her feel the way Doug did.

“I’ve missed you.” Doug tone grew low and velvety, caressed her with its cadence. He pulled her close, chest to chest. His deep kiss left no room for debate.

“It’s wrong,” Gwen protested. “We shouldn’t.” But he’d already zoned in on the spot on her neck; the sensitive skin tingled beneath his wet mouth. I know it’s wrong, she warned herself. But she loved him. She’d loved Doug forever. The thought comforted her as she tugged him towards her bedroom door.

Half an hour later Doug rolled his sweaty body off of hers. “You’re the best.” His dark eyes percolated with serene amusement.

She wrenched the blanket up around her body to veil the blush of her soul. “Do you still love me, Doug?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” He tweaked her nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Hungry?”

“Starved.” She peeked at the clock on the nightstand. The digital numbers announced they did not have much time left. “He’ll be home soon.”

Doug kissed her a last time. Gwen immersed her heart into the kiss until she felt its warmth flood the pit of her belly. Doug crawled out of the bed and yanked his jeans on, his eyes never leaving hers. “Sweet or salty?”

“Potato chips,” she said, with a yawn and a lazy stretch of her bare arms.

“I’ll be back in a jiff.” He winked at her before he headed downstairs. Gwen tugged herself up on her knees; she stretched Doug’s warm T-shirt over her head, inhaled the fabric deeply. Doug’s warm sperm oozed from her body, crept down her inner thighs. She continued to dress, her heart crammed with a combination of love and disgust. As she left the room, the front door slammed closed. Oh, no, Gwen thought. He’s home. Nervous sweat spilled through her thick eyebrows.

Gwen soared down the staircase. “Hi, dad.” She offered him a quick cheek kiss. “You’re home early.”

Her father spotted Doug as he stepped out of the kitchen, bare-chested, carrying a bowl of potato chips. Doug flung Gwen a knowing glance before he peeped back up at the man. “Hello,” Doug greeted, his tone calm. “How’ve you been?”

Gwen’s father stood still for a long moment. Finally, his face broke into a smile. “Doug,” he bellowed. “When did you get back in town?”

“Got in this afternoon.” Gwen watched as Doug set the bowl down on a nearby table. She continued to watch as he stepped forward and wrapped the man in a bear hug. Their eyes met over their father’s shoulder.

Earthbound Ghost Need

Eating Raw Bread With A Mammoth

Tomorrow Is Yesterday Is Today

Illusion

I am this broken doll

New

Deep Thought

Drinking and Drugs

Crush/But I Won’t

For Now I’ll Thinkt

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what is veganism?

A vegan (VEE-gun) is someone who does not consume any animal products. While vegetarians avoid flesh foods, vegans don't consume dairy or egg products, as well as animal products in clothing and other sources.

why veganism?

This cruelty-free lifestyle provides many benefits, to animals, the environment and to ourselves. The meat and dairy industry abuses billions of animals. Animal agriculture takes an enormous toll on the land. Consumtion of animal products has been linked to heart disease, colon and breast cancer, osteoporosis, diabetes and a host of other conditions.

so what is vegan action?

We can succeed in shifting agriculture away from factory farming, saving millions, or even billions of chickens, cows, pigs, sheep turkeys and other animals from cruelty.

We can free up land to restore to wilderness, pollute less water and air, reduce topsoil reosion, and prevent desertification.

We can improve the health and happiness of millions by preventing numerous occurrences od breast and prostate cancer, osteoporosis, and heart attacks, among other major health problems.

A vegan, cruelty-free lifestyle may be the most important step a person can take towards creatin a more just and compassionate society. Contact us for membership information, t-shirt sales or donations.

vegan action

po box 4353, berkeley, ca 94707-0353

510/704-4444

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MIT Vegetarian Support Group (VSG)

functions:

* To show the MIT Food Service that there is a large community of vegetarians at MIT (and other health-conscious people) whom they are alienating with current menus, and to give positive suggestions for change.

* To exchange recipes and names of Boston area veg restaurants

* To provide a resource to people seeking communal vegetarian cooking

* To provide an option for vegetarian freshmen

We also have a discussion group for all issues related to vegetarianism, which currently has about 150 members, many of whom are outside the Boston area. The group is focusing more toward outreach and evolving from what it has been in years past. We welcome new members, as well as the opportunity to inform people about the benefits of vegetarianism, to our health, the environment, animal welfare, and a variety of other issues.

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The Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology

The Solar Energy Research & Education Foundation (SEREF), a non-profit organization based in Washington, D.C., established on Earth Day 1993 the Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology (CREST) as its central project. CREST's three principal projects are to provide:

* on-site training and education workshops on the sustainable development interconnections of energy, economics and environment;

* on-line distance learning/training resources on CREST's SOLSTICE computer, available from 144 countries through email and the Internet;

* on-disc training and educational resources through the use of interactive multimedia applications on CD-ROM computer discs - showcasing current achievements and future opportunities in sustainable energy development.

The CREST staff also does "on the road" presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources.

For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson

dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061

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