Wes Civilz had a poem come out recently in [PANK], with audio, and he published some sonnets in January in the Green Mountains Review. An excerpt from his recently completed memoir manuscript was published last summer at Hippocampus.
What had seemed to be strawberry ice cream
was suddenly revealed to be the dreaded pink slime.
You may have seen pictures of it on-line.
But just as we began to scream at the pink slime,
it was seen, after all, to be just strawberry ice cream.
The orange clown had played a trick on us children.
Decades after that picnic, I, childless, wonder if I should
have children. But time skims forward over its filmy surface,
and I have never even lived with a woman.
I watch myself, in memory as a child, run clueless
and free around the green, hill-filled environment of
what could be any park, any city, any country, any time.
The picnic continues rapidly with fairly happy children
at Vincent Massey Park in Ottawa, Canada, 1989.
A boy whispers to, then hits, a girl.