Summer 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2000 |

Prodigal

There's no use, I guess, lamenting our interest in Things Lost, Things We Have Not, But Want. Shadows and erasures are interesting for what they might contain: some range of movement recalled, the face of a suicide friend, maybe. But what we have now our eyes scan quickly without register. Mike, the guy who works at the bookstore, has a wooden prosthesis for a left hand, and you want to say Hey Mike, what the hell happened to your hand?!— Because you have to forcibly hold your eye back from that polished piece of wood, it's very interesting. Instead you say Mike, you lazy bastard, you were late opening up Sunday morning, I owe you for a Times I slipped out of the stack. Thank God for honest thieves, Mike says. He's gentle but sardonic. Money and beauty are interesting: nobody has enough of either. The old woman wants to be professionally made up in her hospital bed before visitors arrive. The contorted distance in her face as she weeps into the mirror mimes the drama of final act

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