Tonight at work a woman, an sweet old woman, returned a set of Christmas cards. They depicted an angel holding a dove in her arms. The cards were for the woman�s friend, who had rejected them. Apparently, this person rejected them because she didn�t want to give people Christmas cards with a dove on them (a symbol of peace) and have people think she was opposed to the war in Iraq.

When I was in college I was in the play Dangerous Liasons. I played Danceny, Keanu Reeves� character. (I had a kickass swordfight at the end, probably the only exciting part of the whole three-hour ordeal.) The play was directed by a Bulgarian woman who was a theatre major. She also starred in it. Her accent was very thick, and somehow the audience was supposed to believe that a Bulgarian woman could emigarate to 18th-Century France and be a Comtesse. Anyway, there was one line she had: �This will be something for my memoirs.� And she pronounced it mem-WAARS. And it was hilarious. And ever since then I�ve been unable to hear or use the word memoir without thinking of that. �Memwaaars.�

That�s a hell of a
sexy opening line,
you beautiful bastard.
Coming down like that
from the hellish above
and lip-smacking
sauciness to serve you
well into the weekend

Can�t argue with that,
she said, but I was too slow
and I�ve gotten too old
so instead of taking part
we can stand apart and watch
rituals that never change
directions pressed
into the roads rutted
by tradition

Got to stay in my room
and come up with a plan
concoct an antidote
The scene just beyond:
Beauty in the next room,
thunderstorms outside,
breakbeats inside�
collide and divide.

�September 2001




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