December 13-19, 1999: Michelle Felix and Joan Pond

week of december 13-19 1999

Michelle Felix and Joan Pond

Michelle Felix
onphyre@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

I’m 21, a student, I’ve been in California all my life, I adore my dog, I love food, and I’m looking forward to being 21 for the next few months Hobbies include poetry, photography, movies,  books, concerts, my friends, cold weather, PBS, NPR, TDK, REM,  UNO, ETC I miss San Diego and San Francisco.


The following work is Copyright © 1999, and owned by Michelle Felix and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Some Time

i’ll become so desperate
that i’ll start filling out
Starbuck’s applications
because i miss the sex
between my pen (The Whore)
and any old piece of scrap
suitable for the projection of
red lights, laziness, abhorrant
mindsets and downright
nasty paper cuts and she rides up and down
a cursive L
doing the backstroke
drinking bad champagne from
her lover’s heels
listing ways she hasn’t done it yet
biting her tongue with advice from another who
brushes her teeth with laundry detergent
until it’s the end of the line–
period.


For Grandpa

Old men fascinate me They won’t make eye contact
or they love to chat,
make cute observations and
sustain them with a joke
about coffee I listen until they start
pronouncing it *Warshington*
and their eyes are the
things that help them
hold on to their granddaughters
who are all 5 and 18 They are the shopping carts
bleeding at the sides from trying
to carry
everything And everything is gold.


Joan Pond
Boodles1@aol.com

Bio

Joan Pond lives in New Milford, Connecticut

The following work is Copyright © 1999, and owned by Joan Pond and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.


Ode To Elvis

As Paul held me near,
a tree limb poked me in the back Jesus, 
I’d be impaled by a pagan symbol
on December Tenth I wondered
if I looked as uncomfortable
as I felt My skirt was riding up my legs,
stockings were bunched at my knees;
my blouse was wrinkled
and the limb from the artificial tree
could puncture a lung I glanced at our reflection in the window
Two middle-aged frumps, 
clinging to each other And as the tree lights flickered,
I knew this would be
another blue,
blue, Christmas.


Have a Blue Christmas

On Greenwich Avenue,
Fred festooned a fir with lights “Jesus,” he said “It just ain’t right I bought this string at CVS
and it’s already broke This Christmas stuff’s for the birds,
man, it’s a joke I got no wife and my whole life’s changed “
But when I shook his hand, 
the blue lights lit “Holy shit!” he said “It’s a miracle “
And we stood, 
bathed
in cerulean light.

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