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Sunday, Oct. 25, 2009

Dress Accordingly

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A whale so blue it must have been suicidal
           hunts half a song. Peer through binoculars
                     and pretend not to be in love with
                                the scowling boy to your left.

                                      Twice, eyes have been bars at four in the morning,
                          knees making sure of it.
               Afraid of waking, he played six instruments at once
         in a full volume spinning record.


It's always a blizzard.

        Forget about the strobe light wielding Swedes.
                  They caused half of Milwaukee's quarter
                                                     life crisis scene to seize.

                                                                                   It's always a blizzard.

                                                            Inflated by the memory of two shy
                                               girls and one beat boxing boy
                        in a room so dark it was almost light again.

They sat around a campfire
            with little family and big strangers
                           as a man child jitterbugged, eyes knit shut.

                                                                            Composer flashed a cape
                                                     and stretched it like a coda
                                 while a drowning whale grinned.

         It's always a blizzard,
                                with words pelting us
                                           and notes sticking to our cheeks.





Jen Kraft prefers crabapples over ponies. "Dress Accordingly" originally appeared in the Fall 2008 issue of The Portland Review.






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