Winter 1991 • Vol. XIII No. 1 Poetry |

When You Wish upon a Star That Turns into a Plane

           The Replacements My clothes are standing up without me,though it's just the bus is here, the noise of people pulling thingsinto line. And I don't want a ride but the driver leans out the door as if to pull me into heaven. So I light a french fries wrapperand think: Go away, and he does. The doors fold shut and, woosh, there goes the bus. A bum sits down next to me and cupsa cigarette that isn't there—he shakes his hand and takes a drag. The air is brown around us, like an old snapshot; I spend three minutes trying not to breathe, just sipping a little, then walk up to Sunset Boulevard where on good days with God willingI can hitchhike all the way to the beach. I am sure that the sea will rise one day and drive its way inland, but not today. Today will end with a colorful dusk, a stain the length of California fading as the sun goes down. When I was small there was always a mealthat everyone agreed on, and the starsfalling over the city

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By James Harms

           The Replacements My clothes are standing up without me,though it's just the bus is here, the noise of people pulling thingsinto line. And I don't want a ride but the […]

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By James Harms

           The Replacements My clothes are standing up without me,though it's just the bus is here, the noise of people pulling thingsinto line. And I don't want a ride but the […]

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