To a Literary Friend -- Well, a Good Friend, Too
Constantine Contogenis
Your pages don’t blister and flake from
the sides of your life. My ragged trompe l’oeil
wallpaper presents a peeling, papered wall.
You write with what time you take --- a water-clock
of ink. I wait for this vacation, wake up before
my body is ready, decide and will
what my body will soon do itself, once it
can forget me. I’d buy insurance from my brother-
in-law, if I could get away with what’s covered
--- after all, if it be not now . . .
Flying home to be at work, I can’t read.
One row back, the sprinkler technicians
don’t care who hears: the profit’s in
replacing parts. Rent past due, sunburnt,
peeling, I pity myself my pride
come Monday morning to be writing
for hire and salary, to be earning myself
back, page by hour, to zero.
Shorts by Jonathan UllyotThe Movie by Charles Simic
Magnificent Obsession by Stan Badgett
This Story by David Koehn
To a Literary Friend by Constantine Contogenis
Vernal Equinox by Mary Chatfield