Spring 2008, Volume 32, Number 1
Even after the vaccine
I have come down with something very modern,
an occupational hazard from handling receipts day after day.
That lentissimo poison.
The cormorant necks are twigs suspended in saline solution.
They have credit cards, too, but no pockets.
And signs trailing behind them:
Plastics Make it Possible.
I still want a limestone cave luminous with bricks,
oceanic Gorgonzola, marbling diligently after the syringe.
A falling droplet would bellow like an opera hall.
A test tube of shredded money would roll across the floor unironically.
They have gift shops for guests with uncountable cousins.
I scrutinize the beach for weathered bank notes.
Their edges have become gentle.
I pour them into a lamp on an end table next to jealous magazines.
Next, something trademarked happens.
I must confess to a pocket full of magnets,
and stumble all the way to the rotunda.
The tellers have no cash.
The tellers have only hardback books tunneled out, hiding keys.
Terita Heath-Wlaz graduated from Brown in 2005 and moved to San Diego where she now lives and works. Her writing has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Court Green, Coconut, Bird Dog, Juked, and 3AM Magazine.