by Josip Novakovich
It was steamingly hot in the coach. I complained to the chubby steward. He extorted two German marks from me, promising the air conditioning would work all night. It started up, but several minutes later it stopped. Someone else from our tour group gave him a mark. The air conditioning ran for a moment but stopped again. Someone gave him ten marks, but twenty minutes later we were all swearing again.
by Nance Van Winckel
Stale July. One’s bones settle
for slower strides, aim themselves
east through the sweltering pines.
Here, this distance from the city,
enemy bandits once lay down
for a troubled night. . . .
by Thomas E. Kennedy
The room is different, but still somehow like then. The person is like then. The eyes perhaps. The eyes are similar, watching me. And he asks questions, many questions, stupid questions, makes suggestions I must decipher.
“Take your time, Carlos,” he says, and as then, I let the words seep into my consciousness, waiting to see what their real meaning is.
by Jean Janzen
All night the bells of Westkirche
clang their quarter-hours.
The pitches are off and homey
like a kitchen clock emptying
into the shadows, . . .
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