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Award Winning Literary Magazine of John F. Kennedy High School
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THE 1988-83
'.
autographs
John Thompson I9B3
The Plain Brown Wrapper Staff
1982-1983
Editor
Staff
Advisor
Lynn Bronson
Brian BuckheisterA1mee Conrad
Shari FluhartyLeslie Harwood
Lisa Kvach
John ThompsonLorraine Walsh
Mr. John Pudzuvelis
We wish to thank
...Janet Miller for typing
...John Thompson for the cover design
...all our contributors, published and unpublished,who helped to make the Plain Brown Wrapper
The Plain Brown Wrapper 1s published annually bystudents at John F. Kennedy High School, Cedar Rapids,Iowa. The magazine 1s a collection of works submittedby students, staff members, and alumni.
11J
f
Poem During Pep Assembly
Life bubbled within himthe world was at one with him
He sang with the songbirdslaughing at his own actionsbecause they weren't even real
Such is life in the big city
An artificial clock controlled his movementsHe thought of life without structure
laughing at his own thoughtsbecause he was already late to work
Such is life in the big city
Machines everywhere
Building machines, destroying machinesCold machines, hot machinesAll in the name of progress
He remembered life before machines
laughing at his own memories
because there was nothing before machines
Such is life in the big city
The death machine approaches
Icy, unemotional, impersonal
He wonders about death
laughing at his wondering
because he was never alive
-- Todd Taylor
Beatnik's Lament
City of OatmealWeep silently into your coffeeDeath is at your door!
Footpowder on the ceiling
Falls steadily on the plainWhy do you always come when I am sleeping?
Orange and fuschia dinosaurs spin wildly throughout
the cosmos
Wheeling, tossing, turning into stone
We make cookies and laugh.
Doggies In the window
Bark happily at passing hearse
The doctor will see you now.
Soft, pink dream clouds
Engulf the House of Representatives
They have only one calorie.
Red glare of tail lightsBlind as they leave us behindThe streets are bathed in blood.
Transparent eyes stare out of window glassLooking past pillar of salt
Sara Lee slaves in the kitchen.
Flying saucers fly crazily around the dining roomSilver winks In the candle lightBeam me aboard, Mr. Spock!
Do you have the time?No one has the time!
—El Free Groovy Walshness
Muse
Cloaked in grace and beauty fair,
Bright golden rays shone through her hair.
She glides amid a cool stream flowing.
A thousand hues enhance her glowing.
Lights dance playfully on smooth worn rocks,
Reflecting from her mist-sprayed locks.
She dances as the mirrored lights
Amid a band of leaping sprites.
She sways as one with the gentle breeze,
Her twirling gown, the sun to tease.
Tarry, may she, but a short while here,
Yet one day she may reappear.
A muse is she, sent to inspire,
And dances to a hidden lyre.
— Brian Buckheister
Electric Shore
As I strolled along the shore
I saw the magical reflections ofthe neon trees on the water, shiny and
black.
The sky with its looming darkness
as 1t hovers over the land.
The pebbles are gold, shining like
day in night.
— Brian L. Henley
As the flower blooms,Another ocean tide turns,
And the sky wakes up.
— Pam Boom
Silence
Surrounded by mystic clouds,the fog envelopes everything in sight.Shuddering against the bitter cold,A fog horn pierces through the gray.
The dreary scene thickens as of,everything becomes still and discreet.
-- Sherry Lekin
Dawn came silently
On siTver-tipped wings it flewChasing night away
— Kelly Bennett
An Innocent in the Granite World
I saw a headline recently about Woody Hayes getting fired as head coach atOhio State for punching an opposing player." The image my mind created forced
a smile to my lips. The only mistake Hayes made was in hitting someone asconspicuous as an athlete. I sat in my office and began to recollect myfreshman year in college. It was 1964 and I was attending a small Catholic
institution. Although its population was sparce, the athletic recognition itreceived was not.
High school athletics had been my main activity up to that point, but Iwas not quite good enough to enter a dynasty. Still, some fire-up-and-go element of my character willed me to pursue football. Once on campus, however,
my dreams of grandeur were thwarted.
I was about to knock on the head coach's door when it came to my attention
that it was quite dark. It was a sobering thought to think of that looming
shadow to be of human origin. As it turned out, it was not human, it was ArtStepanovich, a four-year letter-winning tackle here. At that moment I realizedmy place, and at the same instant, the coach, Glen Granite, hastily openedthe door and grunted through an armful of towels and a smoke ring.
"Can I help you, kid?"
Having just faced grim reality, I swallowed my indecision and addressedthis faceless voice.
"I was wondering where potential cheerleaders could Inquire."
I wasn't certain, but I may have heard an "Oh, Jesus" Immediately precedinghis answer.
"Go ask at the athletic office; I'm not sure who handles that."
As I passed from Art's omnipotent presence I'm certain I heard twodistinct chuckles.
Three months later we had just lost the final game and the conference
title, the first in five years. I had, by the way, made the cheerleading squad,and as Coach Granite passed by me in the stadium, I consoled him with a "nextyear" promise.
Once again, my senses took a leave of absence, obviously Intimidated by him,but I believe I heard the term "faggot" used. Being nineteen and from BuffaloCenter, Iowa, I was not certain what he meant. I imagined the term having somesort of sexual implication, and an array of grotesque pictures flashed in myhead. While my mind contemplated differing facets of perversions, Granite tooka wild swing at me. It somehow connected, but he was quickly subdued by asweaty and grimy Stepanovich.
"He's more trouble than he's worth, Coach."
8
I rubbed my swollen cheek, and tried to remember what I said that could
have been so insulting.
There was absolutely no reaction from anybody, except my father. Irelayed the event to him by telephone. Dad never graduated from high school,
but he was reasonably sure Granite couldn't do a thing like that. This seemeda revolutionary concept at the time.
After some goading, I arrived in Granite's office exactly one week later.
As the tremendously oversized door beckoned me, I felt my knees grow weak.
I entered this shrine to football and imagined a heartbeat, strong and ab
sorbing, as if the room was emitting some sort of life force of its own.
The celling was about one hundred feet above me and along its cliff-like
walls were plaques, photos and other memorabilia. But there was somethingmore about this leviathan of artifacts. By their arrangment, I could tell
they existed as holy commandments to their keeper.
The rug had swallowed my feet and the sun reflecting off of some silver
trophy began to blind me. I took a step forward and a leather backed chair
swivelled around on an axis that seemed to redefine the earthly poles. It
was Granite.
I realized, at that moment, that I had never before seen his face, as
it had always been shrouded by a black cap. It had a patch on the front,
and I was suddenly obsessed with remembering what it said, the patch
seeming to be some vital piece of information that I could not recall.
Thoughts such as these were erased as I studied his face. His lower
lip was folded up, almost touching his nose, displaying a prominent, unshaven chin. Despite this overdone effort to look toughened, his other
features betrayed his Image.
His earlobes flowed down like fluid, dragging the ears with them, as
if they grew tired of listening. His nose, too, hung as if at any moment it
would drop off in weary rebellion.
He had just prepared a drink for himself, and he rubbed the rim of the
glass confidently with his forefinger.
"Yes?" he inquired, and as he spoke he froze into his chair. Both he
and his throne seemed to turn to stone as I readied myself for speech, andall I wished to do was to spray paint a moustache onto his grim expression.
I struggled with my words and wrestled with my tongue. "This concerns
our little incident."
He smiled and suddenly came to life. "What incident?"
I became hostile. Well, as hostile as someone who had just conqueredpimples can become.
"You punched me! In public!"
"Yes, my boy, but in the eyes of the public, it did not occur."
I almost accepted this as an answer before I became angry with myself.
"You don't think anything will become of this? You're mistaken ifyou think I'll ..."
"Lay down and take It? You will. Far too many of my kind live today.You'd never win a legal battle around here. Where do you think all the
lawyers and judges went to school? Where do you think they spend theirSaturday afternoons? With cases like yours? No way, you Idiot, they spendit on the fifty-yard Hne."
"That's irrelevant ..."
"Irrelevant? It's time you learned that faggots Hke you don't matterone bit In the real world. This administration will keep you quiet beforethey let their sports coverage end."
He finished his bourbon triumphantly, and quickly turned to stone oncemore. I had more to say, but it never came. To this day I don't know whatIncited me to get up quietly and close the not-so-tall door behind me.
I also heard recently that Granite had a son, about my age. At thelast reunion I heard he was living with another man and marching for hisrights in San Francisco. I don't believe it though. Men like Granite arealways immune to poetic justice.
— Ray Walsh
10
The doctor,
Bored by repetitious practices,
Flips to a new slide.
"Does this seem brighter?"
The viewer is left to contemplate.
— scott ewoldson
Fighting
Knuckles, black and blue
Bodies laced with death earlyFighting prospers not
— Matt Cramer
It's like blood, blood on the floor
Where it came from I really don't know
The pain in your head doesn't even showWhy is there so little compassion in the world
They just don't realize there's blood on the floor
— Marty Monear
11
Fear
The hands of mist fall heavilyfrom the heavens, tapping itsfingers against my window.
I become afraid.
A rhythmic clash sounds offlike cymbals of an orchestra.
I am afraid.
The wind becomes violently wild.Trees moan and groan.
•
The night is long.Darkness creeps in on all four
paws,
Spying around my doorway.
I hide under my covers.
The sounds of night have left.Calm blankets me in her arms.
The clashing cymbals cease.
The rain falls gently
I come from under my
covers.
Now I am safe.
— Leah Gael
The wood of the clock is closedThe face of a man is wrinkled
With lines of age from many good years.Life 1s ticking slowlyRunning out of timeHold great respectFor the old man's vast experienceAs both tick away
— Dorcas Lindo
12
So this is war.
Cold, quiet, peaceful.
Nearly boring.
So this is war.
We've advanced so far.
War is just a button away.
So this is war.Waiting for that silver splinter in the sky.For that sudden, inescapable flash.
So this is war.
Waiting for crushing thunderclap.
For those typhoon-like gales.
So this is war.
Waiting for that sweltering, suffocating heat.
For that intangible Killer, radiation.
So this is war.
Some say war is hell.
Waiting is hell.
So this is war.
This is progress.
This is madness.
— Jon Railsback
H
As the man sat at the barWith his mind raging with self-pity and the sting of too much to drinkPhasing off into his own little selfish state of existence
A fellow bar inhabitant approachedHim and tried to start a friendly discussion
But nothing he said penetrated his maudlinAquanintance's consciousness
He thought the man to be a drunken fool and left him
There in his stale drinkAfter a couple of passing thoughtsThe man raised his sour face and said to the reverent allocater of spirits,
"More beer, please."
— Marty Monear
In the firelight that weaves in between the trees, reachingout for a friend to share its warm glow on this frigid winter evening,
the Traveler, as he likes to call himself, sits holding his tin cup
of coffee in his fingerless gloves. He reaches into his pocket, the
one without a hole, and pulls out a memory in black and white. He
wrinkles his face with a squint to focus on his fair lady from thepast once more.
"So many years," he whispers. So many years has his heart bornthe burden of her memory.
"It's time to be free," he mumbles as he releases the memory intothe crackling fire. He closes his eyes tightly and sips his coffeeand releases a tear.
~ David Dukes
15
How Different They Are
We stare at it,
Smiling in a grin of
Selfish sympathy.All around it
Stares back.
Faces with eyes wide with
Desperation.
Searching through cluttered
Streets, alley cats in the night,Claws of wild longing,And hunger of wild beasts.
They,
Are different.
So we stay,
far away.
Protected by a thick wall of
Status and wealth.
Looking from our kingdom,
As if through a small
Hole on a forbidden world.
We stare them down.It hasn't a chanceTo beat us.
— Shelly McMullen
The Cracked Mirror
And you can't see the crack in the mirror
Which prevents you from reading between the linesLike the crack which distorts the imagesHis face distorts all of his hidden meanings
And you are fooled by messages not there.
All the while you are looking into
the cracked mirror.
~ Lonie Goldsberry
16
Night Mariners
Again I board my boat of dreams;Each night it sails anew, it seems.
It leaves the dock RealityTo sail upon the Fantasea.
And now the captain's drawing nearHe shakes my hand; "My name is Fear,"
He says, then gestures towards the zoo"Please take the time to meet my crew."
The first mate's name is Bravery
He conquers all anxiety.The naviqator Chaos, guides
The craft; it safely over glides
Through waves of my uncertainty(It nonetheless unsettles me).So as I brood upon my plight,Sirs Faith and Hope show me the light
Beneath the deck, in shades of gray -'Tis there that Peace has stowed away.Thus, when I rise.to greet the sunI find the dream has just begun ...
— John Thompson
18
Dream of the Past
A vague and mystic fountain spawned an opalescent mist
Whence grew a vaporous being, clothed in scintillating amethyst.
Dark drooping trees, with black and bony fingers reached
For dull grey turf strewn with leaves of muted peach.
The figure danced through foliage of loosely scattered greenAnd wildly blooming marigolds and violets velveteen.Entwining song the image spun which few of men can hear.Small birds on spectral fingers perched as twilight gathered near.The song remembered lives once lived and stories left untold,
Battles fought, enchantments wrought and valiant deeds of old,
Dragons dead and rivers red and gods who walked the earth
And weapons forged in woodland halls by men of noble birth.
The sun was low, the forest still, as night befell the wood,And yet behold, in dazzling gold another spectre stood.The spirit of the future struck! The past it would defile,For destiny had chosen it to wear a victor's smile.
Traditions died and names were lost and misery was great.
Thus is the lot of any who would stem the tide of fate.
-- Brian Buckheister
19
Money
The green paper is like grass
crispy like bacon in the morning,ones followed by lots of zeros,
like people following the leader.The gold and silver clip that holds
the money ever so tightly is
like an animal protecting its young.
The eagle is like the
proud father after his child
is born.
— Mark Webber
Busted
It was two past two
Crusin1 down the Avenue,
listening to my Journey tape
Jammin' out.
Got a red light,
Three girls pull up next to me
in a red Vega,
they ask me,
"DRAG?" I say "RIGHT,"I put my stick into low
as if I really was to race,
the light turned green,
I floored my 1983 2-28,
layed rubber like I never
did before.
I look back to see where
the girls are, I see
red flashing lights,
I pulled up next to the curb.
The cop said "DRIVER'S LICENSE,"I said " .... BUSTED"
— Mike Kobosch
21
Old Woman—Weep Not
Old woman—do not weep for lost sonsBut weep for those yet to be bornThey face a Hfe of misery
A Hfe of poverty and pain
Old woman—leave sorrow to the young
They are stronger than you
Let them fight to liveIf they are hurt, let them bleed
Old woman—you are no godStop trying to change things; It's uselessYou are but one, a very small substance
Go back before it's too late
Old woman—you've nothing to gainWhy must you burden yourself?Turn them away from your doorAnd feel no guilt or regret
Old woman—your time is upon you
Your life means nothing to themYet you still helped them, nursed themRest peacefully,«ldo no more
— Kelly Bennett
Rolling Fingertips
Breaking away misty and blue
Disturbing only but a few.
Reflecting the sun at the water's edgeEngulfing the mountain's lifeless ledge.
Dying out silent and shy
a motion that will never die.
- Mark Raley
22
Seymour's Reflections
The only female who understood Seymour was Little Debbie, andshe'd been banned by his doctor.
Seymour thoughtfully turned off his TV, having already seen that
particular episode of Fantasy Island. It was another Friday night
and he had yet to have a date since he graduated from the university.He'd just turned thirty-six last week.
His parents gave him the annual ribbing at his party about howthey wished there were little Seymours they could visit once In awhile.Seymour had to smile weakly and blushingly admit there were no prospects
on the horizon. His father pulled him aside after a bit and instructedhim to start actively pursuing in saloons.
"But Dad, the bagpipes are hardly my trade," Seymour rememberedreplying.
He knew his father hadn't the faintest notion of what he was
talking about. His father barely got through the Enquirer, let aloneSuetonius.
But that was last week. Seymour knew things could change atany Instant. He looked around his living room. It was immaculate,overlooking the empty bottle of Squirt and the Twinkie wrappers at hisfeet. Facing him was his bookshelf, a vast array of knowledge andwisdom he had accumulated over the years. He used to feel pride inits size, but now it only served as a threat. It seemed to say, "Itold you so. I told you that despite how much humanity you pouredinto your brain you'd still end up fat and single." He hated hislibrary.
All of his possessions seemed to laugh at him behind his back,knowing as well as he that he was doomed to bachelorhood.
His alphabetized album collection sneered, "Do you like to dancealone?"
His couch guffawed, "Need more room? You've got plenty."
Even his cat, fatter than Seymour, implied that life wasn'tworth living. \
The artwork he'd chosen seemed to reflect the same sentiment. fAll of his female portraits were of women he'd never be loved by.All of his landscapes were of places he'd never see.
The only thing that interested him still was a clipping from awine commercial in Esquire. It included a smiling brunette 1n astrapless gown, the epitome of the perfect mate.
He then began to add to the imaginary list in his head. She'd
have to like jazz. She'd have to adore Conrad. She'd have to love
food. She'd have to be fond of ... Seymour.He sighed and turned on his TV to Ricardo Montalban cuttingly
crying, "Smiles everyone ... smiles!"
- Ray Walsh
23
WHAT CHANCE DOWE STAND AGAINST
THEIR KNIGHTS?
...0/?, IF THEY
DECIDE TOFIGHT...
IT SHOULDN'T
BE LONG NOW
JU061NG FROM THEIR
DISTANCE AND SPEED.
'D SAY NO MORETHAN A FEW MINUTES
THAT DEPENDS-THEY
WAY THINK WE'RE
UNIMPORTANT AND
THEN IF I SHOULD\DIE, I WOULD TAKE JONE OF THEIRS /WITH ME.
THOSE ODDS ARENONE TOO
FAVORABLE ...
VE5, WHAT
THEN? IF THEY MAKE A
FIGHT OF IT, THENIT IS MORE THAN
LIKELY THAT ONEOF US WILL FALL.
YOU SPEAK WITH
BOLD WORDS"
— I ONLY HOPE YOU
ARE BRAVE ENOUGHTO BACK THEM
PERHAPS THAT
15 WHY THE
YOUNG ARESTRONG.
YOU ARE INEXPERIENCED
IN MATTERS OF WAR,AND YOU UNDERESTIMATETHE ENEMY'S STRENGTH.
f I ONLY MEANTO SHOW YOU
THAT THIS ISNOT A GAME,
AND SHOULDN'T BE
TREATED AS SUCH
l\ WANT YOU TOREALIZE THAT WEFACE OEATH ON
THIS FIELD. ANDWHETHER WE MAKETHI5 OUR GRAVE, OR
LIVE TO SEE. TOMORROW...
Y£S, AND HE
APPEARS TO
BE HEADING
TOWARDS US
HE /$ QUITE
NEAR NOW,
NOW IS THE\
COURAGEf
/you talk,as ifyou're marching
to your grave! do
you mean to disCOURAGE ME WITHSUCH SPEECH?
YOUR FELLOW WARRIORHAS FALLEN, WHERE AWISE MAN WOULP CUT
AWAY HISAND BE SPAREP.
YOU MAKE WAR AGRUESOME SPORT-
BUT NOW YOUSHALL LEARN THAT
AND SOU ARE
A FOOL. HAVE 5LA/Af
I fear,
I'll drown.The sand wall 1s vast and
Deep.
I fear,
The sun's reflecting rays.Hands tightly grip my throat.
The air hangs still, holdingAll of life within Us palm.
Rippled marking remainA reminder of days the windInvaded Us raging storms to
This desolated land.
There 1s no life here.
I fear.
Death.
— Shelly McMullen
Driving
The wind whips the van around,As the sun peaks through the sky.
The weeds bend in the windAs we go whipping past.
Somewhere on the horizonA train moves.
The road calls.
The radio plays loudly,As the gray ribbon winds before me.
A can of Coke balanced by my side.And a flock of birds fly overhead.
And still the road calls.A farm whips by, and miles ahead,I can see acres of farmland.The white line blurs before me,
And for a second I see nothing.Then the white line comes back,With a pair of yellow lines,And I know I want to see
Them the rest of my life.The road calls,
I answer.
— Linda Tackenberg
28
. A Gift So Simple
Comfort, love, caringFrom others brought happiness to me. :
Or so I thought. iIt was not until I shared with a lonely,
troubled child that I learned.
I don't have time.
I'm busy. 'I have things to do '
For me.
But . . .
But she longs for someone.
Her sorrowful eyes look to hold theworld's problems on her shoulders.
And she came to me ...
She needed and trusted me.
I'm not sure what changed,But for once I took.time,
(Oh how precious it is.)And listened.
I listened to her,
Hugged and kissed her.
When she wiped her eyes
The sparkle returned.
A glowing warmth
Filled my bodyAs a smile spread over her freckled face.She had broken a steel shell wrapped
around me.
A barrier bound about selfishnessMelted by her once hurting eyes.
Her burdens are so small, yetrelieved only by the biggest
gift in the world,
Caring.
The realization of happiness
I found
Not by taking from others,
But by what I gave of myself.The key to the secret
I had searched so long for and
never found
Until I
Opened my soul,
Risked my security,
And bothered to care.
— Joan Abrams
29
A teacher once told me that the earth was
created on July 29, 1965, for that was the
day I was born.If that's true, will it end when I die?
Or will the world go on?
My bunny Gus-Gus died—
but the electricity stayed on.
Old Mr. Pinkney died--
but the ground didn't shake.
Grandpa died--
but the trees
and grass
and birds
and Grandma
didn't.
And so I begin to wonder...
When my heart sounds its final beat
and my lungs cease to draw airwill the world stop revolving?
I doubt It.But perhaps the wind and the trees
will together softly whisper,
"Good-by."
And go on with their day
— Cherie Camp
30
Grandma
Grandma was...
...fresh and always softly scented of Estee Lauder
...cozy and warm—a soft pillow to fall asleep on...
...generous and gracious with gifts and her love...
...she was picky, particular, and precise...
...and always prepared—she brought two of everything..
...she was also thrifty; she only saved good junki..
...she was world-wise and sophisticated...
...and always will be, forever.
— Jane Murray
The Moon
Shining from the heavens
Showering light into the darkSo round and full
A world all alone
Giving comfort to the night.
~ Orlinda Miller
32
Rapturous Peril
Love, a' peri 1 ous emotion,A mural ?of blind creativity,Born of a sadistic maternity,
In the rapture of a flaming ocean.A^delicate draught of honey-wine
And yet, an infectious poison.Bathed in sunlight, a flowering vine.In darkness it strangles the life from men.A paradise, a paradox,A siren upon the jagged rocks.
A silhouette in the subtle mist, is love.A dark lady on a pale horse it seems,Grasping with a silken gloveAn echo of each man's futile dreams.
~ Brian Buckheister
33
An Evolutionist's Psalm
Darwin is my shepherd,
I shall not want;He makes me to sit in .
science-el ass.
He leads-me through the text;
He restores my faith.He leads me in paths of knowledge
for His name's sake.
Yea* though I live in a worldof the influence of Christians,
I shall fear no creationist;■for Thou art with me;
1% theories and Thy ideals,they comfort me.
Thou preparest the truth before me
in the presence of unbelievers;
Thpu annointest my mind with wisdom,
- - my gratitude runneth over.Sitrejaf natural selection shall 1 follow me.£ .^11 the days of my life,and I shall evolve on the face of the earth
forever. __ J()hn Thompson
■**■■'.
Z Life Under A Microscope
't Troubles and conflictv Tyranny and lies.
^ fhis; and always everythingK ;Is in mtcniscopic eyes.^ Trouble and prosperity;■> Might pull the worM apart
•,v, But careful hands that understandWill never let it start.The lab is God's creation,The microscope a part.
— Orlinda.Miller
35
.. :=..-r V" '■
Do Not Open Until Eternity
Just let roe have my eternal nap,
It's time I deserve some sleep.Some question why death happens
On some unknowing day.I don't worry about it,
'Cause when I'm dead
I'm there to stay.
In one piece.
I may die in a fire from Intense heatAnd the surgeon's heart will begin to beat.It may have taken him by surpriseBut he's always been ready to remove my eyes.
"The criminal element is shown with the stain,"The professor chuckles as he probes in my brain.The students take notes with intense concentrationAs the prof picks away the part of frustration.
All my organs I intend to keep
As I lay in never ending sleep.
Put six feet of dirt on my chest,It's there that I wish to stay.
No pushing
No shoving
No deadlines to meet
Just let me have my eternal nap.
In one piece.
— Darren Klementson
36
I heard a small child cry
But was In such a state
I didn't even wonder whyI searched the bleak and gray skyLooking for an answer or some sign of fateI probed for consolation with someone I thought was a friend
But that lead turned to stone
It was nothing more than a dead endNobody is about to bend
There's no one to relate to at homeIt was then that I realized it was I
I was the small child I heard cry.
— Marty Monear
The clock ticks on.
The dreary hours mount their attack on the day.
Their captain, the sun, waves the tiny flag
and retreats to the hills, content to wait to counter.
Will the clock ever stop?
» scott ewoldson
37
Death, Death, Death.
Wonderful, wonderful Death.
But when it gets here,
We'll know what to say.
Who's the guy who made dying sad?
Death's alive, and he's hopping mad!
No spineless willy is this..Host...
Hey, it's Fun to "give up the ghost!"
Die, expire, perish, drown
Moan, cry, whimper, and frown.But "kick-off" with a wink...
It's more fun than you think.
The guests dress in their finest stuff
Men in tuxes, women in fluff.
Strew some flowers around your corpse,
Play a rock record 'til it warps.
Death, Death, Death
Wonderful, wonderful Death.
Death isn't here yet,
But when it gets here,
We'll know what to say.
— Leslie Harwood
38
Johnston's Epistle
I got the news at 1:15 a.m. fty bunky, Patrick, had just got back from
patrol on The Wall. I remember waking up to the sound of Patrick yelling,
"We're pullin1 out — it's on!" Well, that was only eighteen hours ago, but
it seems like a lifetime. Patrick's dead now, along with almost half my
company. It all happened so fast, it's unreal. I wish. Berlin, that'swhere I am now, fell in two hours. The only reason I'm alive is becausesomeone slapped a gas mask in my face when shells started going off.
We knew weeks ago that something was going on "over there" (anymoreRussia is just "over there" and Russians are just "they" or "them"). Thebig guys all had a conference and as usual the v/hole barracks knew all about
it ten minutes after the ranking officers got out. Things were moving "over
there." Two days ago, if you used binoculars, you could see the dust from
tanks moving on the autobahn about ten miles north of The Wall. Last night,
before I hit the sack, one of the other Lieutenants told me I should stay and
party with him. We probably won't get another chance. Well, he's probably
right. He's one of those guys who always is.
Our radio man told us this morning that we wouldn't be getting any rein
forcements and we all knew what that meant. Back in '86, when I went through
boot camp, my Drill Instructor informed us of the chances of survival that
could be expected a hundred miles into "their" territory — zero.
The B.B.C. went off the air about an hour ago. They said that the bombing
was getting too bad to stay on. They say that a Russian carrier, the Kaylif,
was seen off Norway last week, and, although the B.B.C. reported it to have
suffered almost mortal injury, the planes bombing London belonged to it.
We're going to have to get moving again. These Reds are really gettingserious now. They've brought in a halftrack. It's about two blocks away now,so we only have about five minutes left before we have to get out of here.
We're all beginning to think that the Captain's flipped. He's been talkingto us Lieutenants about going out in a blaze of glory. Well, there's really
nothing we can do about it except become deserters, and none of us want to do
that, so it's up to him now.
It's not going to be a surrender, so for the time being I'll say, "Good
bye cruel world. I'm gonna miss ya'."
Lieutenant Marcus Johnston
United States Army
"Comrade Johnston, your husband asked me to give you this before he died.
He said you wanted to know what happened. I tried to mail it to you but you
know how the postal service is these days. The Reds have screwed everything
up in these bloody Communist States of America..."
— Steven Drake
39
The End
Coming soon is the end.Like a whirlwind approaching,
Swiftly winding to it's destination.The people see this impending disasterAnd try to escape from it; they run,
The farther the better -
All they are doing is delaying it.
Coming soon 1s the end.The old man in the rocking chair,He sees it. He does not run. He knowsIt's coming. He does not try to escape.
Does he know something I do not?Some minute detail of importance?
Coming soon 1s the end.
It may come as a parade withBeautiful colors around it and flanking
It will be marching bands playing praises.Thousands of people will watch it
As it weaves down the main street
Of your metropolis. It doesn't dare rain.
Coming soon 1s the end.
It may come as a drop of paint
Falling off the-Creator's brush. It
Collects speed, thrusting itself downTowards the unexpecting public below.
As it hits, it spreads, covering the
Surface. It leaves nothing unaffected.
Coming soon 1s the end.
The End is coming soon.
— scott ewoldson
40
Mom
It would be late at night. She would sit, curled up in a chair, manicuring her nails with the care and precision of a. jeweler. She filed, shaped,
softened, painted each nail with infinitely careful strokes of shell pink;
they were her treasures. Her hair would be in curlers in anticipation ofthat moment she hoped would come. The TV would be on, but she was unaware
of Hollywood intrigue. She dreamed of her own romances. The drone of the TV
and the washing machine faded before her memories and expectations.
She had had conquests, no doubt. When she was a sophomore, she was
dating her older sister's college friends. Who could compare with that?
But she had known then, and she was sure of it now — she knew there was
more than that. She was here, so there had to be more — didn't there?
So she graduated high school expectantly, and she did it right. She was
married within a year. She was a mother in two. Who could compare with
that? She had a husband of her own. Not bad. Sometimes she even thought
he might be her dream. If only she knew him.
But that didn't matter. He was out working late, like he should be.
The children were asleep, like they should be. The TV and washing machine
were running, like they should be. And she was curled up in a chair, painting
her nails, like she should be. Who could compare with that?
— Lorraine Walsh
See the young man in his new gown
Talking up to his bouffant drag
He says he loves you with flowers
Something he's never had
A sentence should be like a serpent
Quick with a sting in Its tailString me a line that has meaning and depth
There's no small talk with walkie-talkies
Small talk stinks.
— Marty Monear
41
The Statue of Liberty
I pledge aiiegience to the flag
Of the United States of America.
Land of Washington and LincolnLand of my father and'fathers before himThe promised land
And to the republic.Where congresses represent the people
Deciding Issues for rich and poorBut always for the rich
For the poor have little powerAnd little moneyAnd little hope
For which It stands.Keeping the weak In their placeArming against unknown enemiesDoing battle against itselfThat is its job
One nation under God. Indivisible.Yet cannot God see
The bitter struggles between worker and ownerWhere capitalism and materialism run hand In handOver the unemployed working manWho would like to feed his familyBy his own means
In this land of equality, prosperityAnd glimmering hope
With liberty and justice for all.
— Todd Taylor
42
It Seemed Only Fitting
It seemed only fitting
That he should die in captivity.After all, he had killed others.
Like a wounded tiger he had lashed out at others,Blaming them for his pain.The pain of the heart, the soul, the mindIt did not matter,
For it came out hurting.
There had been bad dreams the night before.The mechanical guards would not let him out of the great chained trap.He had wanted out
He had cried for their help
He had tried to get their attention
But the mechanical eyes and ears had been long since closed.
It seemed only fitting that he should be found
Hanging by that chain.
— Darren Klementson
43
V-
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•
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jHf:
,fr&
"V.-.vi,
r-?A.v*
My toes are red and grumpy, shriveled like oldmen of centuries past, whose lives left them only linesof smiles upon their faces. These little guys seem towink at me. They all bow solemnly and reappear; Ibow In return. They seem to say, "We are strong andwill carry you on." I am grateful. Host suddenly alarge white tube covers them, but they do not resist.Once Inside, the dance begins out of sight.
— David Campbell
Twentieth-Century Sock-Eaters
In nearly every American household there is a thing soinnocent ... so sly ... so evil, yet it lurkes in dark basementnooks waiting for its prey. Oh yes, it appears harmless enough -enough that unknowing people innocently bring the dreaded thing into
their homes, shutting it away in their basements in blind trust.Never have I seen such a demon as this one. Round plugs control
the thinking process as they click and roll in the head, an elongatedorgan whose Interior 1s a maze of crisscrossing, colored nerves. But
the horror of the beast 1s its enormous, gaping mouth and churning
stomach. Tiny holes in the stomach serve as intestines and suction
out a muddy-green liquid from the meal, supposedly leaving the originalfood Intact. Ah, but too many, victims of their own Ignorance, soon
discover the real motive behind these gobbling bandersnatches.They call themselves "Speed-Queen," "Kenmore," and "Maytag."
Although their guises differ, the crime Is the same. Mysteriouslyand without warning, socks disappear in these so-called "washingmachines," never to be seen again. Why do they want socks, of allthings? Why just one and not a pair? Where do the lone socks go?
No one knows. Perhaps there is a Divine Mission in store for thesevanishing socks, or an evil force determined to drive sock-weare.csberserk. Whatever the reason, the Bermuda Triangles of the laundryroom can only be viewed with suspicion as they chug and spin our socksinto oblivion.
— Leslie Harwood
46
"Look out!" I screamed just as a man a short way away was crushed bythe enormous pink pillar. This pillar comes from high 1n the sky; I don'tknow why, but it has been doing this for about twenty minutes now. In thattime I have seem friends, relatives, even enemies crushed by this column.Perhaps God is intervening in our lives for some great cosmic cause, or maybeIt's some new weapon of war developed by the Reds. Maybe it's for pepqlationcontrol, choosing people at random who will be killed next.
"Oh my God! It's coming down at me now!"
"Billy, come and eat!"
"Just.a minute, Ma, let me squash this last ant!" the fat little boy sitting on the sidewalk said as he lowered his finger one last time.
-- Lee Smith
Happy Times in 5th Hour
Inside the closed door of room Z
nothing exciting is happening.Life-like figures
slumped over their life supporters.
Heads swaying back and forthhalting with a jerk.
Bodies spasm
as students dream of falling off cliffs.Fifty-five minutes drag on
to what seems like hours.
Soon the mannequins start to rustle
eyelids slowly open to a squint.Mouths open to release lifeless yawns
heavy breathing fills the air.A few wipe the drool
that slid down their chin while sleeping.The inviting tones sound
and the mummified bodies shuffle about.Another exciting day in American Government,
— Colleen Burke
48
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Index
Abrams, JoanA Gift So Simple P- 29
Bennet, KellyDawn came silently p. 5Old Woman — Weep Not P» 22
Boom, ParaAs the flower blooms P« 5
Buckheister, BrianThe Dream of the Past p. 19Muse P« 4Rapturous Peril p. 33
Camp, Cherie
A teacher once told me p. 30
Campbell, DavidMy toes are red and grumpy p. 46Spider p. 44
Cramer, Matt
Fighting p. 11
Drake, Steven
Johnston's Epistle p. 39
Dukes, David
In the firelight p. 15
Ewoldson, Scott
The clock ticks on p. 37The doctor p. 11The End p. 40
Gael, Leah
Goldsberry, Lonie
The Cracked Mirror p. 16
Harwood, Leslie
Death, Death, Death p. 38
Twentieth-Century Sock-Eaters p. 46
Henley, Brian L.
Electric Shore p. 5
Keegan, Steve
Clown (photograph) p. 38Steel girders (photograph) . . . . . p. 2
Klfcmentson, Darren
Do Not Open Until Eternity p. 36It Seemed Only Fitting p. 43
Kobush, Mike
Busted p. 21
Lekini Sherry
Silence . • • • • • • • • p.5
Undo, Dorcas
The wood of the clock p. 12
McMullen, ShellyHow Different They Are ' p. 16
I Fear . . . . . . . . . p. 28
Miller, Orlinda
Life Under a Microscope . p. 35
The Moon . . . . . . • • • p. 32
Monear, Marty
As the man p. 15I heard a small child cry • •' • • . p. 37It's like blood p. 11
See the young man p. 41
Murray, Jane
Grandma . . • . . . • • • p. 32
Railsback, JonSo this is war p. 14
Raley, Mark
Rolling Fingertips p. 22
Seltrecht, Fred
Jimi Hendrix (picture) p. 45
Sheldon, AlisonEyes (picture) p. 13
Sherrill, Alec
Basketball Player (picture) p. 7
Smith, Lee"Look Out!" . . . . . . . . P- 48
Tackenberg, Linda
Driving p. 28
Taylor, ToddPoem During Pep Assembly p. 1The Statue of Liberty P- 42
Thompson, John
An Evolutionist's Psalm .
Inkwell (picture) ....Neptune (picture) ....Night Mariners
Pawns (cartoon) ....Star Wars Collage (picture)Tiger (picture) ....
Valenta, Marc
Magda (picture) ....Shells (picture) ....
Walsh, Lorraine
Mom .......
Walsh, RayAn Innocent in the Granite World
Seymour's Reflections
Walshness, El Free Groovy
Beatnik's Lament ....
Webber, MarkMoney
White, Tammy
Chessboard (picture)Girl's Face (picture)Quill and Scroll (picture)
p. 35
. . . p. ip. 17
p. 18
. >% p. 24
. ' . p. 47
p. 49
p. 31
■ * . p. 6
. p. 41
p. 8
. . p. 23
. . . p. 3
p. 21
p. 20
p. 34
p. 4
autographs
