September 1998
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Poetry Page

KING OF THE ROAD

NO ONE WAS EXPECTING US
AND WE ONLY WANTED TO SEE EACH OTHER
SO WE DROVE.

NO PARTICULAR DESTINATION HAD BEEN DETERMINED.
YOU HAD TOLD ME 
THAT WE WOULD KNOW WHEN WE GOT THERE.
SOME PLACE WAS JUST ITCHING FOR US TO FIND IT,
YOU'D SAID.

STRETCHES OF SEEMINGLY INTERMINABLE INTERSTATE 
GAVE WAY TO SECLUDED AND CURVING COUNTRY ROADS.
WE EXPLORED THEM WITH THE CURIOSITY OF A MISCHIEVOUS CHILD
PLAYING WITH SOMETHING MOTHER HAD FORBIDDEN US TO TOUCH.

ONE SHOWED US TO A SHADY GROVE OF OAKS, TINTED ORANGE BY THE SEASON, 
WHICH SURROUNDED A POND SO STILL
THAT IT REFLECTED THE LANDSCAPE AROUND IT LIKE A LOOKING-GLASS.
WE CRAWLED TO THE TOP OF THE TREES,
TAUNTING GRAVITY
AS WE REMAINED PRECARIOUSLY PERCHED OVER THE WATER. 

RESTING NEAR THE ROOTS, 
WE STOPPED TO STARE AT THE SUN
STEPPING BEHIND THE HORIZON.
OUR SILENCE SAID MORE THAN WORDS EVER COULD HAVE.

WE KNEW IT WAS TIME TO CONTINUE OUR TREK
SO WE RETURNED TO THE CAR, 
NOW DUBBED THE ROAD WARRIOR,
AND DROVE SOME MORE.

THE STORIES YOU TOLD ME MADE ME LAUGH.
THEN THEY MADE ME THINK.
YOU WERE A BRILLIANT SOURCE OF KNOWLEDGE;
WHAT YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU MADE UP SO WELL.

THE MUSIC WE PLAYED ARTFULLY ACCENTUATED THE TOPICS OF OUR DISCUSSIONS.
WE LISTENED TO MOZART AS I SPOKE OF MY MOTHER.
DAVID BOWIE PLAYED AS YOU TOLD ME HOW YOU COULD FLY.
SIMON AND GARFUNKEL FILLED IN ALL THE SILENT VOIDS.

TIME PASSED AND THE NIGHT WINDS WHISPERED A BREATHY HELLO IN MY EAR.
I SAID I WAS COLD AND YOU WRAPPED YOUR ARM AROUND MY SHOULDERS--
NOT TO WARM ME BUT TO STEAL MY JACKET.

I REMEMBER SAYING WHAT A LIGHT NIGHT IT WAS.
YOU CALLED ME STUPID 
AND SAID THAT IT WAS DAWN.

NO ONE WAS EXPECTING US
AND WE ONLY WANTED TO SEE EACH OTHER
SO WE DROVE.

By Megan


IT'S MINE

This is my Beck CD,
It's hippin' and hoppin'
I listen to it every day,
And I'm not stoppin'.

This is my Beck CD,
It is number one.
I dance to the music,
Try it it's fun.

This is my Beck CD,
It's really good.
As rappers would say,
It is fresh in the hood.

By Caitlin McCafferty


Lady Bic

Once, I decided I would pluck
the hairs from my arm pits
instead of shaving them.
It didn't hurt as much as I had anticipated,
(I was rather proud of my new found tolerance)
so I continued.
After a half an hour
of tiny, surgical removals;
constant shots of electric, prickly pain;
I thought of a girl I'd known.
She'd carved boys' names into her skin.
I wondered what difference there was 
between us.
Then, I remembered that
girls with scars
weren't nearly as petty as
girls with shiny arm pits.

By Jesselee Whitson


Guilty

Huddling over the glossy finish, broken pieces exchanged for faulty 
soul-shaken peasants in regret
Star struck by the sentimental, garantees of the cargo enclosed unlike 
the rough and mangled
A body hovering over the sea, the waves wash like rivets into splinter 
soaked wood
At a loss by the fact that life in centuries eternal, to divide and 
conquer underneath flaky skin
Peeling away at the inner core...

By Stella Folds


Untitled

And why am I always hungry;
you hit me like a wave of nausea
but when I wake on the floor
you will be gone.

By Andrew Pye


Do you have poetry?

Send it on in! It can be romantic, heart-warming, humorous, or epic--we dont care! But if it makes the cut, you'll see it in the next issue of The Shrubbery. E-mail it to submit@theshrubbery.prohosting.com

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