Campfire Pop

Campfire Pop

The hot medium of flames smacks

upward, whacks sheer eyes

with a stencil of blue and green.

Foreigner

Foreigner

There is a foreigner
on this shore.
From foreign lands, with
Foreign hands,
Knocking at my door.

The Lions on the Library Ceiling

The Lions on the Library Ceiling

Have you seen the lions on the library ceiling? They’re pawing at the edges of ontology, where flowers bow like gentlemen with Sinatra-style fedora hats. Everyone is lithe, lither than pigeons bopping on the curb and squirrels scrambling at a crumb of bread, and yet the lions lie in stubborn stone. Nothing to do but dance. 

The Maybes

The Maybes

They were trying the traffic-light system again this year. The plan was to expedite the selection process; make it easier to get a hundred-and-fifty college kids to Japan. The folders were laid out across three plastic tables they’d carried up from the cafeteria. The YES folders were green and occupied three stacks. The NO folders were red. There were too many of them for proper piles, so they were simply dumped, en masse, in bins. Maybe she was right, he thought, and they should have just kept it digital, not bothered printing it all out. The process hadn’t really worked last year either and that year they had only needed a hundred interns. This year they would have one-fifty. Maybe one-fifty-five even.

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