October 2000 | poetry, William B. Hunt
Let me introduce Cheryl. She is of the sign of the crab. Her grandmother paints roses, which are her very favorite flower. Her grandmother grows violets and does animal drawings in Greenforest. Near Greenforest there are three lakes where people go fishing for catfish and trout, not far from maples, oaks, firs, elms, dogwood. The leaves turn red, orange, yellow, and brown. Grandmother bakes apple and pumpkin pies, peach pies, cherry pies. Ruby is her neighbor, a very plain woman who wears plain dresses while working in a garden to grow tomatoes and okra. “Grandmother, I wish you were here!”
October 2000 | poetry, William B. Hunt
Jill is such a lark to think about, flaming red hair and freckles, my flaming flamingo. She is a good sport, too, acting like she invented the human smile. I don’t know why she just sits there, looking at the wall and looking at me. I never took acid, LSD, but she makes you feel like you’re on LSD all the time. Yes, Jill, there are dangerous liaisons that occur frequently in the night places. Your beauty is not exactly a relationship, and your fun does not precisely warm my own hearth, but once I swam the Sea of Rains.
October 2000 | poetry, William B. Hunt
“I’m into this. I like gold, diamonds, sapphires. Sit down, Thane! I’ve got a lot of them. Because they shimmer. Mom took it away from me for a little while. It was Christmas. I always wanted one and I got one. And the next Christmas I got this one, sapphires. I love jewelry. It makes me feel real luxurious, like someone you see in Dynasty… fixin’!… where are you from, girl? Madonna is bad ass! Bummed? I was with him all day. I haven’t been this fried since I was in Dallas. I got my license last week. Darling Nikki.”
