15 October 2006 | Vol. 6, No. 3

It Could've Been a Centerfold

by ARLENE ANG

1

I remember the story: it was a hot day.

The hero disappeared behind enemy lines.

(gratuitous fruit beeps in the background)

The rabdomancer masked a tendency

for cocktail umbrellas, old whatevers.

The ending included ten linguist opossums

and Bukowski in tea-leaf attire.

2

The rejection slip between pages

59 and 60 of Sartre's Being and Nothingess,

may butterfly a rustle,

may Marxist balloon a hayloft for some funeral.

3

A case of "identity crisis"

from Psychopathology of Everyday Form Letters:

The Xerox copy begins to question

electricity. A sort of burning odor repeats itself

on paper. Subject wants to prescind

the extraordinary things in its typeset

and keeps coming up with dot matrices,

burnt at the stake—for luck.

4

Sometimes I see the future:

me

(mss)

in marshmallow costume

(dated July 8)

my armpits

(unsuitable)

full of commuters

(thank you)

in search of the emergency brake

(for your interest).

These brief revelations are symptoms

of loss, my damp brassiere in the litter box.

5

My submissions, according to the atheist

across the street, are miniature harems.

He had a closer look at the kewpie dolls

in my soul, my dandruff shampoo.

For intimacy, we swapped famous quotes

and made each other feel uncomfortable.