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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 2, June 2014


Ruth Holzer
Herndon, Virginia, USA

Dinner at Timmy’s

the beggar halts
at a wayside inn—
before my time

Sick on a journey—that punishment of poets, now mine to endure. In a featureless hotel room, I’m chilled and feverish, far out of range of anyone’s concern. Weak with hunger at day’s end, I wander into the chain coffee shop in the mezzanine. The vividly illustrated menu boards turn my stomach. I just want a plain sandwich. I ask the young counterwoman about the different sizes. “My dear, the small is this big,” she measures a few inches with her hands, “and the medium is about this big,” her hands moving further apart, “and the large is like this, and the giant-size, like this,” as she extends her hands even farther apart. I order a small one. “Oh, but we’re out of all of them, my darling. We’re out of everything.”

a hard pillow—
I’d even drink sake
if they had any



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