He sang ALOUD to the EMPTY room, “What kinda CHICK would SHIRK her duty? / Flee her town and …” He shook his head. It just doesn’t work. Sighing, he sat at a desk, pulling his backpack over. The classroom would fill soon, as the buses started arriving. He was frantic to get this song done before fifth period. He was desperate, nervous, all the things that go with trying out to be in a band. Pulling out his notebook and his cassette player, he got ready to try one more time to write the song, the one that would get him in.

Georg’ann

I like to look at public bulletin boards
crowded with PRINT media
Behind each FLIER is a story
Something lost among invitation to something new
Stories filled with promise, hope, opportunities
Buttons, the lost grey tabby has been tacked over the one for the Moon Women ritual group.
Surely by now the apartment has been sublet, it’s covered in pin pricks from all the things placed after, the edges tattered
The Ryder film showings are from last month, the new one hasn’t been posted
did someone SHIRK responsibility?
I begin to weave a narrative
from the details on, or left off, this familiar wall

Heather