by Annette C. Boehm
RAYS (7) I spread our large bright-striped beach the beach, the incoming cool, damp swirling girlfriends flopping on the sand, dark glassy heads protruding at all angles. spin and tumble across the sand pulling themselves beyond Their gills in and out for air. dance. kick mud on the backs of legs slippery, squirmy, and quick pulse racing back into the salt attract lure They are oval beech leaves dark gray-blue sides and bellies.
HOW TO USE THE COMMODORE, 1982 He will do anything we say. He will do nothing until we return. The place is address five three two eight oh. He’ll change the place in memory to whatever we say. Poke it and code it red. White. Blue. This is how we control our borders. We can choose the color of characters individually. We can choose their background; these things are in the book if you go looking. The commodore key’s a new type of control. Easy to use, fully intuitive if you’ve done this work before. We know you have. No need to write your own commands; we’ve pre-collected bundles of orders for you, for business, for special acts. Just insert and turn on. He knows he is a new machine.
Annette C. Boehm's poems have appeared in the Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, elimae, Barely South Review, the Chariton review, Hawaii Pacific Review, New Welsh Review, and others. She is a poetry reader for Memorious: A Journal of New Verse and Fiction, and has served as assistant editor for the Mississippi Review. She is a doctoral candidate at the Center for Writers, University of Southern Mississippi. Her chapbook The Five Parts of Love is available from Dancing Girl Press.