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Amphitheater

Amphitheater 151 An old silver bus blustering up beneath a dead lamp. The avenue turned north where the structure began to break even. Woke into or out of a body muscling the drop toward a mouthful of sea or sky. If only the sidewalk carried on for half a day. A sign without its ``P'' read ``ark.'' A pay phone clanged several hours outside the blue and white takeout. A speaker in the wide-open meeting hall said, ``Pause.'' She said, ``Half the chairs clapped.'' Phyllis Stowell But it's remarkable! So the man tells a story to preserve himself against steadfast ruin: his hike to the site under noon's relentless pressure, a xenophobic bus driver having dropped them like turds, his luggage-carrier wheels jarring, slipping on the unmeasured mile of loose gravel, his exhausted humble sigh at the sudden sight of festive blue-- umbrellas! Tomatoes Olives Feta. How good to eat, how good to rest . . . then one of the lesser seraphim, a crabbed servant bent over with complaint, leading up and up limetone ledge steps to the uppermost shelter, almost cool inside. How good to lie down inhaling air pure as the mountain. To join near nightfall http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 University of Nebraska Press
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
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Abstract

151 An old silver bus blustering up beneath a dead lamp. The avenue turned north where the structure began to break even. Woke into or out of a body muscling the drop toward a mouthful of sea or sky. If only the sidewalk carried on for half a day. A sign without its ``P'' read ``ark.'' A pay phone clanged several hours outside the blue and white takeout. A speaker in the wide-open meeting hall said, ``Pause.'' She said, ``Half the chairs clapped.'' Phyllis Stowell But it's remarkable! So the man tells a story to preserve himself against steadfast ruin: his hike to the site under noon's relentless pressure, a xenophobic bus driver having dropped them like turds, his luggage-carrier wheels jarring, slipping on the unmeasured mile of loose gravel, his exhausted humble sigh at the sudden sight of festive blue-- umbrellas! Tomatoes Olives Feta. How good to eat, how good to rest . . . then one of the lesser seraphim, a crabbed servant bent over with complaint, leading up and up limetone ledge steps to the uppermost shelter, almost cool inside. How good to lie down inhaling air pure as the mountain. To join near nightfall

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: May 11, 2008

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