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We all said how much we hated it
that little town with nothing to do
we cried and called about its absolute
           waste of space.
Oh we would leave it and be
                                                      Glad
­No one ever even whispered a
maybe I'll miss it
just a little bit. or
                                           I lived here my whole life
****
Then I went back to visit
and for the first time in years
                  I was having a great time
                      in that little town we all swore
                                we'd never
                                           go back
                                                            to.
© Daniel Magner 2012
once you are gone
there will be no evidence that you were ever here at all
no photographs
no letters
no clothes left behind
the smell of your hair will not be on my pillow
your warmth will not resonate in my bed
I will find no hair of yours hidden among my sheets
and I will eventually find it hard to prove even to myself
that there was a time when you existed
and I ask myself
if you even do
now
© 2012 Jene'e Patitucci
(fictional tale of real beverages)


he sat at table number 9
she chose 10
their eyes never met
but only through the wall wide gilded mirror across the room
he thought her name was Faith
she guessed his was Luke
he took a sip from his mocha massimo every 41 secs
she guessed he was 41, slowly stirring her white-no-sugar earl grey
she wondered if the ******* page three of his 'Sun' was a blond, a brunette or a red head
he wondered what principle she's at in 'Why men love *******'
they ate lemon and poppy seed muffins with small bites
his lips were firm
hers unable to hold on to the cheery blush lipstick any longer
he thought she was single and had a RSPCA rescued cat called Biscuit
she guessed he was married with three children and a wife called Porscha
she must be driving a Ka
he must be driving a Jag
she waters her plants every Tuesday, goes to pilates classes on Thursday and on Sundays she watches Terms of Endearment in her pink jumper with her friend Chris and a box of tissues
he walks his dog at 7, plays rugby for Long Lane on Saturdays and on Fridays goes for a pint of Guiness with his friend, Joe
he snores/ she sings in the shower
he's a catholic/ she never quite liked Jesus
he hates his wife/ she loves her cookies
they laugh at the old woman shouting at a bus driver in the street and hate gyms, cyclists in Lycra and anything to do with politics
they secretly read Keats, eat onion bagels and tomato soup and listen to Gershwin

*

they never spoke
they never will
because if they would
Faith would never be able to watch Star Wars again and Luke -
Luke would lose his faith in
love at first sight
It could have worked if we were older
Maybe in a few years you'll lean on my shoulder
on that hill, both back from college for summer
and you'll realize I'm your guy.
Or maybe not, maybe we'll be back
but you'll have a boyfriend that you love
more than you ever loved me
and I'll be asking a ******* a date to a movie
I'll see you holding his hand and I'll
remember what I wrote next to your name
in my phone

"Always take care of her even if it means
letting go"
Yeah it'll sting but then I'll smile
because I know
that I probably love you more than you will ever
be loved
You'll never know that but
seeing you happy is enough

And maybe you'll see me getting a girl's number
and you'll think back to that summer when you
gave me yours
Yeah it'll sting but you'll remember everything
that made you happy
Then you'll grab that boy and walk out that door
talking about how much you adore his
brand new hair cut
I'll look up and you'll be gone
possibly forever but
I have you in my heart
I'll always remember
© Daniel Magner 2012
An old poem/song I wrote. Although I no longer like the writing, the feeling is more relevant than ever
 Nov 2012 Mikayla Hughes
Zoe
I've been paid to pour sticky-sweet
dancing-juice down the throats
of men who can't afford
a ******
but want the salt of Bourbon Street
on their tongues when they wake up.
I've stumbled up to my door,
dropping the keys and loudly spitting out a
"Shh!"
to myself, to retain some sense
of dignity.
I've woken up with an army in my head,
shouts muddled because their leader
has been shot, and all they can do now
is stomp around and
make loud noise and
hurt.

It never hurt as much
as being awake without a hangover
and having nothing physical
to nurse.
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