Fall 2011

Table of Contents - Vol. VII, No. 3


Poetry    Fiction    Translations     Reviews

Gary Blankenburg



At The Biker Bar

What do you think—
I said to the Mutt & Jeff

about guys who
don’t ride Harleys
but instead

choose Triumphs,
old Indians,
or Hondas.

Mutt said,
I don’t care
if he’s a pimply-faced

kid on a moped
as long as he’s out there
in the wind.

Yes, I thought, it’s all ok
as long as you are
out there in the wind.



Down by the Station

After the bars closed
I would wander

with my bottle down
to the train station

to watch the trains come
from the South

on their way to Chicago.
I’d watch the tall

dark porters sway
as they walked the aisles

with starchy pillows
for the sleepy passengers.

In the club car the men
of business drank

whiskey and smoked cigars.
The dining car passed

empty, but bright and gleaming.
All night they clacked by

and I would wave to each
caboose, wishing

I were aboard and roaring
through the corn and soybeans

on my way to concrete and asphalt.



Joe Cardarelli

Before his reading
to my high school
creative writing class,

I took him aside
and asked him not
to use the word “fuck.”

He looked immediately
stricken and hurt
like a child.

Then he drew me close
and whispered
in my ear,

You know,
I just took a ‘fuck’ out of one
of my poems yesterday.


© Gary Blankenburg


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Poetry    Fiction    Translations     Reviews

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