December 2017-February 2018

“Scruples” #3 and “A Cabaret Called Janus” were posted in three by 3, December 2013-February 2014 and June-August 2013. They have been recently accepted for publication, the former in a forthcoming issue of  The Columbia Review (http://columbiareviewmag.com), the latter in the October issue of The Open Mouse.(http://theopenmouse.wordpress.com).

“By All Appearances” appeared in three by 3, September-November 2013. It was revised in 2016 and this version is posted below.

  Scruples 

         3.

Lazarus´s alive. He´s eating breakfast
with his sisters. On the table
there´s fresh fruit, hot bread,
enough tea for everyone, including
well wishers who´ll soon
be swarming in like locusts.

Mary and Martha´re crying, but not
for joy. A pall´s fallen over the room.
He´s confused, angry…says
he was on the way to heaven
when it turned into a back
road to Bethany…that
their meddling in his afterlife
did more harm than good.

 

 

A Cabaret Called Janus

 

Downstairs, posters flatter the lobby
with a wall of fame.
Highlighted by a chandelier,
one star shines after another,
starting from left to right.

 

The man in the dressing room
looks like the magician
among them.
He’s wearing a white tux, matching
cape and sash, fake mustache,
same pearl turban.
The poster also shows him
waving a wand of lightening
over a fiery hoop.

On weekends he appears
after midnight, prime time
for a full house.
His fans watch closely,
never miss a trick.

Soon a blinking buzzer
will upstage the mirror.
By then he should be
all made up, or not.

 

By All Appearances

 

Today, at the peak
of my morning walk
along the beach,
I spotted a bottle
which, more than likely,
was marooned by a wave
in league with the tide…

There it lay, lost,
then found, made of gold
mined by the sun,
glittering bright, brighter
the closer I came…
but what I held up
against the horizon,
was skinned with moss,
dark green, streaks of light,
nothing inside
beside broken shells.

Our showdown was short
lived, ended when
I reached the shoreline,
shut my eyes, cast the bottle
to where it once belonged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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