ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

 
TWO POEMS
by George C. Upper III


Headache

It cracked today. Not a large
crack--not enough to see light
through. It was probably a
weak spot to begin with--a

flawed design, perhaps, destined
to collapse under its own
weight eventually. Or
the contractor, watching his

bottom line, maybe rushed the
job, or chose inferior
materials. It's not what
you would call a substantial

defect. It's just a little crack.
A hairline, really. You can
barely see it, and only
if you know where to look. It's

probably just a result
of settling, or some other
natural occurrence. There's
nothing surprising about

that--nothing to celebrate.
Settling is not uncommon.
Doesn't mean it's not solid,
able to withstand more blows.

It's just one little crack that
you can barely see. No, don't
look--even if I showed it
to you, you wouldn't see it.

Paul (Before I Grew Up)

I learned from you the art of wearing shirts.
We couldn't afford golf shirts, and wouldn't
have known to buy them if we could have. You
rolled your sleeves up, once, cavalier--not rolled

really, but turned up. Little did I know
that I was imitating another
wannabe. It didn't work. I don't know
if I didn't want it bad enough or

simply didn't understand. I hated
you and surpassed you and wanted to be
just like you and there were times I would have
killed you outright given half a chance. But

the only lifeless bodies I had seen
had been at viewings, except once I had
seen an arm sticking out from under clean
white cloth, pale in the sun on the highway.