The other day, I wrote several fragments of poems and stories, then accidentally deleted them. Here’s one I remember:

            “I wonder if they have them in other colors,” she said.
            “An elephant’s an elephant,” he said.

Well — thank goodness I didn’t lose that.

Or this:

            He looked up at the moon; it was his last resort.
            The moon looked back — poor fool.

Ah, yes. You know you’ve hit bottom when even the moon pities you. Which leads us to another gloomy night-related piece, this one with a title:

            Black Cat

            As if the night
            weren’t long enough,
            dark enough,

Here’s another that pretty well stands on its own, I think:

            The Avalanche

            He made up his mind
            while she was hanging up
            his coat — don’t ask her
            about the skeletons.

Great beginning! That could lead anywhere. Not that it needs to. How about this:

            After Alaska

            The last thing
            he expected to find
            in their old black
            frying pan.

Hmm. On second thought, that one might be better without the title.

Well, I remembered five, anyway. But there were at least that many more. And they were the good ones.

Also by William Michaelian

Winter Poems

ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco

Signed copies available

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