Spring 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1997 |

Movietime

They can't wait. ("We couldn't wait," they'll say.) And that's not the only thing the lovers can't do. They seem unable to get their clothes off in time, or to catch the breath they're losing in each other's mouth. Oddly, they've lost the knack of getting into a bed without keeling over onto the floor in a tangle of bedclothes and other clothes. (Fabric can be so stupid!) If only they could get out of each other's way or at least into each other's ways in the right way. And they can't slow down, and clearly can't go fast enough to catch up to what they're feeling—maybe if something had some texture, but things slide by, going far too fast. Can't they sort of go back to point zero and start over? Really, they seem like strangers who can't get acquainted and who, by trying harder, get stranger and stranger. God only knows what they can do; probably it's just whatever this is they're doing now crashing into each other at this impromptu intersection they've just creat

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In Old San Juan

By Irving Feldman

They can't wait. ("We couldn't wait," they'll say.) And that's not the only thing the lovers can't do. They seem unable to get their clothes off in time, or to […]

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