We entered,
not just a simple store
but a warehouse converted to
the worshipping of all things manly-

Homage to the bullet;
Shrine to the Hunter-

Two kids-cowboy boots and all-
push a cart that reads
"Customer in Training"
I stopped and wondered,
amid the countless colors of cowboy hats,
"Men in Training"
is better.

Not being a hunter,
a fisher,
an athelete;
its hard to understand just what it is
that makes a man.

Poetry,
rhyming,
sounds,
everything and nothing said on an empty page.

Love,
laughter,
sorrow,
capture the attention of the reader like a burning book.

One look,
one movement,
one word,
destroys walls and castles quicker then anything else.

Fear,
Hate,
solitude,
keep me within my own castle's walls.

"You always look so proper,"
but I'm only twenty-one.
"You always know the anwser,"
But I'm younger then you all.

"You're so kind and gentle,"
"You're so warm to touch,"
"You're voice is so soft and tender,"
yet I still sleep with just my books.

"You're such a good guy,
to help that grandma with her bags,
to help that kid learn to read,
to do everything you're asked,"
still I sit alone...

Squeezed in between the Bulher Agency
and the Thai Cuisine
is the Sushi Ya-
Friday Night-
out with the guys,
well fellow employees at least.
I had a godzilla-cripsy crunch-
a Happy- my mouth wasnt full of joy-
after a cup of courage-
A.K.A. Lemon Water-
I tried a Crystal Shrimp...
the urge
to go
overcame me.
The bathroom was pure black
with a wanna-be Piasco
paino player painting
hanging above the sink.
The mirror was displaced
along the wall it ran,
in front of the john.
As I sat
I saw and thought "why?".
The iron butler stood there,
arms outreached, a tray of toilet paper,
as if to ask so kindly
"May one be of service sir?"

-Olsen W. Potter-