The way you take the side of a lead
pencil and shade something in
is the way the river came at me,
whether looking out second floor glass
or standing on a bank, the river shape
was part curve, part zigzag, as a hand
with a pencil-on-paper horizontal.
By contrast, the human-made cascade,
shelved, tiered zines at Cakers came down,
a waterfall of Life, Look, Mad, Motor-Trend
Dude, Nugget, Better Homes and Gardens.
It was before they separated the dirty ones
from ones pure as Reader’s Digest.
My back to them, at the fountain I nursed
a vanilla egg cream, looked at Mr or Mrs
Caker. Behind him or her a wall mirror.
Their corner confectionary sat at the top
and the river at the bottom of my world.
Between them, Voorhis Ave, tree-lined,
winded to woods that sloped to the river.
Stepping back to look at the whole thing,
I see lots of trees and hills. Voorhis, flat,
winds like a snake. No sharp turns but lots
of gracious curves, it leads to a plateau,
a sudden drop to slopes of woods then,
eureka, the winding river I don’t ever want
to be thrown in. It’s polluted. I watch myself
stuff Mad into my windbreaker as if I were
Mr Caker. I catch myself stealing. At least
it’s not one of those dirty zines. Alfred E.
Neuman grins from Mad. He wears a tie,
Mr Caker an open collar and apron. Bobby
Parker comes in. A black pompadour spills
over his forehead. Cascades like the tiers
of glossies. Mr Caker says, Put it back.
Peter Mladinic’s most recent book of poems, The Homesick Mortician, is available from BlazeVOX books. An animal rights advocate, he lives in Hobbs, New Mexico, United States.
web: petermladinic.com
