by James Brasfield

First summer after the lottery
numbers were assigned,
and each day the country was
closer to what was called
Peace with Honor — at its end
nearly 60,000 soldiers lost —
I was a lifeguard at the inner–city pool,
and off from my tall chair
saved, from what I remember,
a little girl just in over her head
and a man on the grate
at the bottom of the deep end.

Fifty years and twelve–hundred miles
from the pool, I see my town’s bay
from my window and someone
walking down the sidewalk
on the other side of the street
(on its berm a line of trees),
someone who doesn’t live
along this street, pass behind a tree,
appear, then pass behind another
and on until mid–block, and disappear . . .

I was issued a number
too high for conscription. —

Six years later, Saigon fell.

by James Finnegan

I am thirsty
but conspiracy theorists claim
drinking water will kill me
that it contains graphene nanochips
which track your blood cells
and even your impulse to dialogue
which resides somewhere in the brain
or at least somewhere in the mind
maybe even your left foot
if pain resides there
they tell me Big Brother’s Big Sister
is out to get me
faucets are the new enemy
turn off turn off never turn on
yet still I’m thirsty
a wasteland quandary
in that that which gives me life
I’m told by some will be the death of me

 by James Finnegan

what exactly is the angel’s angle
and what kind of angel is there
someone once said things are quite quiet
two become one and one becomes two
where cleave is stuck then becomes unstuck
as if history breaks us and un–breaks us
Green Gable and Great Gable
the difference — one is green the other higher
one bright from a distance — the other dark
an all–out invasion of a city
warns its residents to flee
an ineffable all out
metal and flesh and soul and blood
where can I run to
who can I turn to
it is no longer quite quiet
there is no angel’s angle
or if there’s an angel it has fallen far
as far as an unslumbering bear

by James Finnegan

transporting a truckload of troubles
from Goose Bay north of Nanaimo
to Francis Jack’s cabin south of Victoria City
I feel like I’m in a road movie
terpaulin flapping in the wet wind
a loose piece of knotted rope
beating against the rear number plate
not regular enough to be a knell
to parting day
but an early morning irregular beat
a long time ago I hitched a ride
from Chemainus where Elsie Bob lived
and the guy who gave me a lift
said that he sold bibles to people like me
just before I decided to leave his car
and seek a different lift
this truck I am driving is dark blue
like the colour of the sea on the left
it’s symbolic driving my troubles south
to light a fire outside Uncle Jack’s cabin
I don’t need to know what the troubles are
enough to let them go up in smoke
another memory from way back
driving down the west side of the island
someone named Annie asked me to buy a Coke
so I buy two Cokes and she throws her drink
over the windscreen to dissolve the grease
I briefly feel like a jerk
with a straw in a cleaning agent
when I get to the cabin I remember
Francis Jack burned it down a few years back
but I light a fire anyway
and ghost dance with Sitting Bull
I then ring Livinia in Goose Bay
who asks me to come home for supper
so I head back in the truck
now coloured sunflower yellow
like the setting sun
and I have no idea
where the terpaulin has gone