Arthur Vogelsang
AUGUST, N. LINN ST.
Storms averaged two hours, fat
Hours heavy with extra minutes.
Two women were alone in the poem about Iowa City
In Iowa City itself ha ha. They
Were beautiful, weren't they, as they smoked cigarettes
And walked under the jungle-like trees
In the middle afternoon? In the town.
The somewhat personless town
Was green as you stood,
Wherever you stood, like green water deep over the roofs,
And they were smart, they
Were walking fast, they were baring
Their emotions and laughing like laughter
Was the beautiful penis that broke all hearts.
A friend says this happened.
"I was miserable,"
One of the women told him, "we both were ,
So we took a walk." The bar's diabolical clock (a
Local myth) was slow a half hour every afternoon
Then caught up
Or
that afternoon quietness raised its own skirt
When the rain came onto the street like a loud silly car
And in the hollow uninhabited dark bar
They told him this, even how the previous rain,
In the morning. swelled and warped the day.
I don't know which.
The story is so embellished by now
That the women wear shorts and are crying, smoking,
And moving along under the trees.
