Winter 1994 • Vol. XVI No. 1 Poetry |

Sandii

1. Scene was she had gone through too many of the glossy magazines there, ogled too many an eager, workaday model, posing with a surgically-rounded peep from behind conceit, her towering bouffant, brunetted or blonded, as if a hirsute eraser or a crash helmet against continental shift, and me there as a kind of period piece. And I was just that, or a modest toy, hiding behind a negligee catalog, as she sat under a dryer and bounced her game off me or her version of playing the light card. "Is good thing you no butterfly on me because I fix up your wagon I catch you. But I smart girl and know you no love me plenty hotsy like you say you do." She did have a way with words. "You take me to New York, America, when you go . . . get very rich, quicktime, or do for love and, how say? . . . make honest woman of me." She had it in me and twisted it. "Hump to put beaucoup wonderful babies in me, no? You on it fast, I bet, if I had hair and eyes perky like glamorgirls i

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I Know You

By Linda Smukler

1. Scene was she had gone through too many of the glossy magazines there, ogled too many an eager, workaday model, posing with a surgically-rounded peep from behind conceit, her […]

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