Sketch: Volume 47, Issue 1
It was love at first sight —no, more than that, really —it was infatuation; she had me completely mesmerized from the instant I cast a glance at her. Looking up from my toes to her legs, tanned golden, the taut calves and thighs quivering sligthly and then flexing firm with each step, stretching from the sand past the dimpled kneecaps and then slipping conspicuously into her white bikini—oh, those legs!...
Haunts me haunts the painstriking memories of animal pains and mental writhing psychic dum-dum bullets...
A renovated brick facade Encloses their world A land of sturdy oxfords, Glass counters and Coat-hanger smiles A place where "The customer is Always Right," Is emblazoned in their minds And on their paychecks...
The liquid soap oozes from the squeeze bottle, Slowly forming suds Separate from, float above The greasy stacks. I brush away my bangs With a steamy hand; Start to wash the plastics, Then the glassware . . .