Thoughts of a Part Time Taxi Driver

By Paul MacPherson October 18, 1972 Going through Mom's old trunk full of memorabilia about my dad. Found this essay he wrote for an English assignment on stream of conscience narrative. Dad never finished high school but went back to school after he was married and had a young family at home. This was written …

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I miss

(to a friend on his birthday) Dancing to Quiet Riot “Girls rock the boys” Sneaking into the drive-in with you in the trunk Drinking Lemon Gin (you called it panty remover) and 7up till we puked That look you used to give me when I said something shocking Part admiration, part lust one eyebrow raised …

Picking up the pieces

After 41 hours of traveling, five transfers, eight cups of coffee and 11 trips to the cramped washroom, George Goodhope stepped off the Greyhound bus. The air outside was a mixture of diesel and popcorn with a hint of what smelled like piss. George blew his nose in a tattered handkerchief and started walking towards …

Remembering the fire

I was one of many who watched the entire Waco incident unfold on television. I was on maternity leave at the time and the death of so many children touched me deeply. Ten years later, I wrote this fictional account of what it may have been like, in this case, for someone who escaped at …

Fear of flying

Six months pregnant one last flight south Familiar security guard scans my swollen belly Maternity leave, relief less than a week away. Recite a relaxation mantra, Which pre-natal pattern to calm this fear? He-he-ho. Dash-8, both propellers wrestle the wind Lurch, ride the turbulent air Fuselage twists, shakes Walls alive with movement Like a squirming …

The Smell

seed-freckled strawberries decompose cheerfully fuzzily jar-born spaghetti sauce erupts contusions of mold silently once crispy lettuce lies eroded flaccidly pressed gray bologna best before date flaunted shamelessly lumpy fish chowder swims in congealed cream happily pizza remains stiffen drained of taste sullenly crusty body-less plastic-bagged head of irritating neighbour quietly stinking up my fridge.

Emily, queen of lime green

I tiptoe past her door Careful not to disturb Warning signs scream at me NO Trespassing! Enter at own risk! Inside She smoulders Like a cigarette butt tossed on the ground Radiates heat Waits to ignite All that’s needed Is the right fuel source. Flopped on her futon One leg flung over the wooden arm …

Small town, big rock

seven sets of traffic lights two railway-crossing points population 12,987 eighty percent off sale at Ann’s Fashions an infinite number of dresses jammed on the racks smelling of sweat “Missing” poster at the bike shop 65 lb rottweiler named “Peaches” $50 reward for safe return four wooden chairs and one scratched table outside the 2nd …

Frozen lives

Scuffed black leather boots laces wrapped twice round thick ankles silver blades mirror the sun explode with light. Edges carve the freshly flooded ice lungs hungrily receive the crisp air. Tendrils of coal-black hair trail behind her like a flag shredded by the wind. Brown velour hat lies abandoned in the snowbank round and round …

Poetry: Kayaking across Moyie Lake

By Jody MacPherson, April 2004, unpublished               A flotilla of motorless watercraft In the lead, son Outpaces us easily with furious Teenage stroke Jib tight to his transitional body Legs curled inside the hull, yoga-like. Foamy swells split in half Pierced and separated by our bow We sew a …