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Nathan Graziano |
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Famous I sat at a café table behind a stack of my books at Barnes and Noble, next to the magazine racks. My first book signing. Customers walked in, glanced at a large sign announcing my appearance and walked away. Making "humph" noises. I watched the teenage girls with soft white thighs sway through the store for close to two hours, imagining they loved me. Lusted for my book. Finally a bald man carrying a book on bee keeping stopped in front of me. He frowned like he'd been stung by a yellow jacket. "Good to meet you. I'm Nate Graziano," I said extending my hand. "Do you know where the bathrooms are?" He asked. Wiggling a little. "I need to crap." Lawless While I was reading a poetry journal the other day, it occurred to me that I've never read a poem written by a cop about being a cop. Are poets truly outlaws? Or is there a part in the back of the badge that punctures the chest ever so slightly. Just enough for the human soul to escape? Stuck For A Metaphor I sat at a table with my friend. A confirmed bachelor. We watched as a healthy brunette writhed naked around the poll. "You're willing to give all this up and be with one chick for the rest of your life?" The stripper sandwiched a bald man's face between her breasts for a five spot. "It's heartbreaking, isn't it?" I said. My friend shook his head. "How did you know?" he asked. Genuinely intrigued. I stumbled. Stuck for a metaphor. "You just know," I said. "You're a goddamn writer and that's the best explanation you can give?" I nodded in the neon glow of loneliness and lust. "Yes," I said. "You just know." |