Issue 90, Winter 1983
“Good trembling,” CJ said as we
Walked along the docksides in our thin jackets
Even though it was winter on the East Coast.
We were advertising our urge for life
To ourselves and anyone else who might
Have noticed.. It wasn’t likely, but we liked
To believe that our minds had lights.
That we were intellectual Tom Swifts
And pureblooded peasants of the finer and
Tumultuous emotions. A little era babbled through us.
“I don’t want to become an anecdote,”
I said as I waved my arms at the thought
Of eternity—say being thirty and married.
A cop car slowed down beside us. Long hair.
“I can’t imagine that,” CJ said.
“It’s too cold and windy.” We looked straight ahead.
But the car drove off anyway;
It was warm in there for them. We got some coffee.
Exchanged barrages of quotations.
Vowed to rectify the inertia of everyone else.
And went out again into that clenched wind
Of portents, dogmas, and seasonable love.