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the bus left forty minutes ago and just now she looks out on the street. to the rain making rings in puddles by the curb. to the citations and the escorts pushing up waves with their tires. her elbows on her knees, hands together, head bowed forward. she turns her eyes up and her forehead breaks out in wet. the soaked strands of hair zip along her windbreaker. the toes slosh about in the canvas-topped shoes. His hand is still with her. She feels it, she holds it. and she looks outside for the first time today.
By Dan Strohl
Know what's sad? 45-year old hippies At alternative rock concerts Bumming weed off teenagers. Know what else is sad? People who say "The Spice Girls make good music" When in fact, They don't play any instruments at all. Know what's REALLY sad? When Rolling Stone compared Silverchair to Pearl Jam. I stopped my subscription right then.
We wanted to go To get lost in the snow To speak French, and drink Large mugs of espresso. We wanted to ditch our cars And smoke foreign cigars, Take a cab or a bus, and meet Canadian TV stars. We wanted Canadian guys And import CD buys We tried to be tourists In Canadian disguise. Well, we got lost in the snow But stayed at a HoJo, And ate white toast While deciding where to go. We went to the Falls And the huge-ass mall, And I sat for hours Looking for Kids in the Hall. We loved the exchange rates, Hated the guard at the gates, And realized we were too ugly For Canadian mates. When we ran out of cash, And yes, all our hash, We spent our last days In the hotel, crashed.
By Jessica Brandt
I don't hate you. I just hate everything about you. Your body can stay, But your mouth has to go.
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 email@example.com
Note: The Shrubbery now only prints 5 pieces of poetry per month, so don't feel bad if your stuff doesn't make it. Keep sending!!!