Travel Writing (by Lytton Smith)
Or I have not been here before.
This movie theatre. This movie theater.
A revolution leads to sunset, the salmon
emboss of clouds against an evening.
The glass face of a corporate structure
edged beautifully with the reflection
of corporate structures. Here you are
not lost for things to do. The walk
to the famous monument takes you
past the inaccessible street musicians.
The city on the edge of sunset yet.
The walk you musician with footstep
ventures (it was folly to go barefoot
but you did) and inner compass.
There are side alleys but it is sunset
there too. The way a place is delimited
by colours you are too. Eagerly so: scents
along the avenue, imported skylines.
The lost gather at airports, silent
as geography. Observing their waiting
we expect flight you I this theatre.
(Lytton Smith is an Instructor in the Department of English)
A Long Night (16) (By John Reed)
A long night, my love, my sweet sick sunrise,
my drunken dawn, my pearly, priceless doom.
Who but you? Waiting in my blinking eyes,
churning in exhaustion—my reckless fume.
Dirty feet, white thighs and somebody’s bride;
divorcee, chapped lips and laughter to lie for.
We had no shame but we both had our pride.
Never were you mine, never was I yours.
Never came the nevermore, the sorrow
for the lost cold war, the bickered, battered
bedroom sores, mascara charred and marrow
bored. I hate how they knew we would shatter.
And whoever invented the promise
had no love, made no concession, for us.
(John Reed is an adjunct professor of English.)
