Sprung

     by Jannie M. Dresser

This summer, I will not be working for U.S. Safety
Corporation building your better seat belt.
I'll no longer twist the long black tongues
of stiffened nylon thread through a plexiglas shock-
box filled with gears and levers, to snap each one
in place checking its resistance.

You won't find me taking my stand with the rest—
hair tied up in braids, buns or wrapped
in buns and scarves—as our hands circle coiled springs
that pop and bounce across conveyor belts
waiting for the brown grease dab will squeeze
in each to guarantee smooth wind-ups and release.
In case of accident: better pray they stay in place.

This is one damn summer I won't need to shout
above busted machinery din, or keep my brown-bag lunch
off the my Plexiglas station; I won't miss foreman
telling us knock the small talk off or when he fires
the black guy on the spot, no explanation.
But, I’ll miss the farewell picnics on the baking blacktop lot
because I’m no longer one of the girls.

No, you won't catch me slacking in my used Nova
day after day-loud day, rolling the window down
and cranking the AM up as much as she’ll go.
There'll be no safety strap in my car for the long drive home.
And, this summer, the only time clock
that I’ll have to punch is that dull grey box rattling
tick-tick-ticking inside my head.

Altered Life

     by Mark Taksa

The corn husker leans to the pond.
Her muscles are slow among loose lilies.

Her chest is full for the taste of a baby
and of the eyes of the town fathers
crowding a tree they spy behind.

The ceiling of the gallery
is sky over the branches.
The old guys will gaze until corn grows
to a harvest filling every plate empty
under every hungry eye.

Art is altered life.
The canvas is quiet as corn
in the sun. The sound of the water
is champagne I swill in my glass.

Dedicated to the 2009 CPAC Annual Gathering

     by Ted Fleischman

We are the visible angels
We are the perpetual moral principle
We are the transfiguration and ingratitude
and our evanescent godliness is awesome.
Behold, the complete soulful universe
the nominative ego
the perfect
the timeles