ink
a literary supplement
Fall 2001
Eyeing of the Storm
is the Beholder
By Julie Doxsee
I may as well prolong the stasis for a nutty flask of wine
Or whine about the rain, or whine about the
Wine stain on my tiny dress with wallpaper flowers
And a big rip on the seat near the other big rip.
But a deluge is an adventure in the sleight of land
Earth pulls off to nudge itself around in the inner mire,
Said a bullfrog when the tea was finally ready.
Trick elbow with a trick up its sleeve and a grin
Paralyzed at the face like a souffle in danger of draftiness,
Should the wind swing and make the faux-oak door ajar.
Surely the grin would fall into a pout and declare injustice
Through an Auntie Em oh Auntie Em pair of gourmet lips
Then go off in a corner threatening to ... pout even harder.
But wait, we're talking about just the elbow-
Fish oil gets the wrinkles out, don't confuse that.
How does the door become a jar you ask drooling
Wondering really what might be in the jar, is it
Olives or jam or candied yams, a physicist's brain?
Emergency cellar, taken of its jar, de-jarred, jar open, ajar
Can a door be a can? you ask. That's how worms come
And I need a bunch of worms to tender my earth
To hook and fish up the Perch from my perch if I can.
You can purchase worms for your Perch at the cantina
If Tina can reach the cans. If not, plunge your manicure
Into the mire after this rain and pluck some wrigglers.
Back to the jar. It's possible to abracadabra the door
With a pumpkin and some rags if you kiss a bullfrog
And rub a candlestick three times toward the Wicked West
Before clutching the knob to guide it right till it clicks.
Scream
Charcoal Drawing
By Trev Kelderman
Untitled
By Steve Miller
Reading crime stories, drinking iced tea, I was sitting by myself at a sidewalk cafe. He took a seat at my table before he spoke and didn't stop to ask if the seat was free. He said, "Hello, I'm Ricardo Montalban."
I said, "Yes, you are, aren't you?"
He said, "Yes, of course, and you're Steve. Steve Miller."
I nodded, trying to conceal my astonishment. How would he know who I was? He smiled. He said, "You've never liked me very much, have you?" He was right, but I thought it would be rude to readily agree with him. Before I could politely dispute his claim, however, he carried on, "Your brother, Marvin, is a huge fan of mine, though, isn't he?" Again, he was right. Again, I nodded. I felt a slight smile dash across my face. Much more so than on TV, his voice was so kind!
He lit a cigarette and puffed away serenely. Flattening a wrinkle in his cream linen chinos, he asked me nonchalantly, "Did you know, Steve, that the Mongolian bladder is considerably smaller than the Caucasian bladder?" This made me laugh with great gusto but he did not laugh. The look on his face was still, serious. Seemingly, he expected an answer. I said, "No, sir, I did not know that," and laughed some more. He looked offended.
He said, "It is true, Steve. You do not think I've come to impart a load of spuriousness to you, do you?"
Somehow forbearing still more laughter, I said,"No, sir. I doubt you'd do such a thing."
"Ah, yes, you are quite the doubter. Please, don't doubt so much. I hope you wouldn't doubt me if I were to tell you the best hamburger I ever had was at a McDonald's in Nicaragua in 1981."
I laughed. "That I doubt for sure."
Not amused, he said, "Your small bladder frustrates you a great deal, does it not, Steve?"
He was right. Nights at the bar are certainly one restroom trip after another. I started to nod, and then stopped abruptly. It was time I started asking this joker a few questions.
He raised his hand as a signal for my interrogation to stop. "Go ahead," he said. "The john is just over there. Through the door, all the way to the back, on your left."
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