In an ongoing series, the editors, former contributors, and readers of Eclectica have been invited to write a poem containing four pre-chosen words. The words for this issue are clerk, furry, chrome, and bleach. Below are the resulting selected poems.
If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the four new words are rabbit, heaven, immune, and brick. Send your poem(s) to email@example.com by June 1, 2003.
(Click on the title to view the whole poem!)
Most nights the chrome sky
is lit by passion, more ordinary
than anyone wants to remember.
And the Sun, furry behind vague clouds,
is the perfect clerk, with an eye for pilferage.
On Encountering My First Grey Hair
The clerk at the King Street Pharmacy
pulled me over to the boxes of colour
as if we would soon tell all our secrets.
After he quit
because they were telling him what to do, he never got another job.
He began to work on cars at home and since then has smelled like bondo
and paint thinner, and now people can call him whatever they want.
Six Word Poems
The cat sits like a furry cabalist;
your chemistry teacher of years ago
would cross your name out
with a thick red pen.
Tan in the intensity of the sun and kiss spf 15 lips
Lay in a white hammock for so long the netting
grafts to become new skin
Mom didn't trust me home alone. She's prone
to causing fire and cursing Jesus, the sisters told
her, but everyone else was clerking or in Korea.
Skipping School—Abrams, WI—November 1975
The shoes fit; canvas trompers
aren't much good on a rainy day
but are better than wet socks.