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.

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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