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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 64


The politics of estrangement
Go galloping over the hill

Into the arms of Annie Oakley
Who puts down her gun briefly

To clean her glasses
In an estranged manner.

She’s just like a dream
Of an old friend

Who looked like that,
But now is dead;
Who cleaned his “specs”
Just like that.

And with friends like that
Who needs enemies?

But mind your manners, stranger,
Or she’ll give it to you, too,

For a few dollars more,
“For a nickel I will.”

It’s a witless outlier or outsider
Tied to ceramic insulators,
The new style in cement shoes.

If you tie on enough of them
They’ll pull you down
Into the water and around the block.

Imagine drowning in a hurricane.

Or head-first in a toilet bowl.

Maybe there’s something to be found,
Mainly there’s something to be lost.
The fish rots from the head.

But the mutations don’t care
If you find them or not,

Unlike the players,
Who prefer to be caught in the act.

  Ian Ganassi