I scream

I think I’m smart as I go

to write a poem titled

Bohemian Raspberry, only

to find that Ben & Jerry’s

Homemade Holdings have 

got there before me by using 

this play on words as the

name of a frozen dessert. To

add insult to injury, I disc-

over that it’s a non-dairy

ice cream, &, therefore, in

my mind, an obscenity.

Ukiyo-e for beginners

The carousel I’m on stops

turning & floats off up the

Tōkaidō. Hiroshige appears.

Where are we going? I ask. 

Eventually Edo, he replies. 

But won’t the horses get

hungry? They’ve eaten, did

so before we climbed aboard.

Moleskine

Cell phones explode

at the edges of the

cycle track. Another

wrong number. He reached

for his address book. What-

ever he wanted was in

there somewhere, but he’d

lost sight of it long ago.

Tenuous relationships

dance on the front lawn in an

attempt to bring some joy to

the neighborhood. It hasn’t 

worked before — the police 

have been called seven times

so far — but hope, it is said,

springs eternal. & if there’s 

a beat that goes with it, then 

why not dance to its rhythm?

Entr’acte

The war is paused. A band

of gypsies wearing livery

from a time long passed 

now take center stage & be-

gin the ritual recitation &

dance colloquially known 

as The Grief of Daedalus by

one side & The Maze is Ours

by the other. The dance is

a form of schottische — two 

sliding steps forward, two 

steps back, then hop — the

recitation in a language

neither side knows, but ex-

tant translations indicate

that the text is the same for

both sides, & ends with the

phrase: “There can only be

one winner.” The perform-

ance ends, the dancers cum

récitateurs head for the Mil

Mi-8 that is waiting, leaving

two people who stand back 

to back & who declaim in the

respective languages: “Gentle-

men, now start your engines,” 

then hurry to where the heli-

copter has its rotors running.