VERNON WARING : The Man Who Hated Summer
070POETQ2 : National Socialism in Norway
MICHAEL MIKUS : Help Wanted
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VERNON WARING
The Man Who Hated Summer
The man who hated summer smoothes on sweet scented lotions;  his body glistens like a waxed table. Jobless and listless, he soaks in lemon yellow afternoons and smiles at the irony; the season he's never sought is the only one he has. Now he never reads a paper or greets a neighbor or mows the lawn. Instead he simmers on a chaise lounge in a nest of mosquitoes and heat, his flesh taut like sutures, his eyes drawn shut against the sun. Darkening under a paper white sky, he holds his breath while the phone rings and rings and rings.
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The Man Who Hated Summer National Socialism in Norway Help Wanted  
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JAN O HANSEN
National Socialism in Norway
My grandfather was a baker and a Nazi; his specialities were French bread, Napoleon cake, and chocolate éclair. During the austere German occupation he always had a good supply of pure wheat flour and made quite a lot of money selling his wares to SS officers and big-shot Nazis Bought properties he did in his wife's name because she was a righteous woman who spent her time knitting jumpers for the poor; he knew that his good time wouldn't last forever. Two years he got for dallying with the enemy and a five years ban on baking bread. Now that my own father is no more I find myself well off being a sole owner of properties, in the posh part of town, which once belonged to a far seeing enemy collaborator. My grandmother is ninety-four under her black blouse, hidden from view, she wears the iron cross.
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The Man Who Hated Summer National Socialism in Norway Help Wanted  
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MICHAEL MIKUS
Help Wanted
I'm a pretty fucked up fellow. You don't know this about me or maybe you do, but I don't think you do. It's like senility--if you knew you'd stop doing it. The difference is I know I'm fucked up, but I can't stop and I want to look like I know what I'm doing. How does one un-fuck themselves? I walk around like a sad, unhappy guy and sometimes I am. I can't explain it. It's just the way I am and I'm very good at it. There's moments of joy, even happiness that never lasts. You get burned by the tragedy all around and it makes you stronger, harder...more understanding of how it works. (If you can't see it you're not looking.) There's comfort in knowing things don't work out because the harder I try, the worse it gets and let me tell you my brothers and sisters of the pale night all of us are not born equal in this pretentious world where nothing makes sense if you think for yourself. We're dealt a hand in the grand casino and some say the deck is stacked. Maybe it is, I don't know, but there's something wrong at the edge of town. There's a circus without a clown with a sign posted 'Help Wanted'. I need a job, but I'm not qualified.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 070
VERNON WARING : The Man Who Hated Summer
070POETQ2 : National Socialism in Norway
MICHAEL MIKUS : Help Wanted

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