Beckie Loewenstein

Jurors not authorized to leave room. Police officer monitors phone. Sticker badge assigns me twenty-eight Waiting, I wash and eat purple grapes. All stand and rise for honorable, Wonder about case ponderable. Judge asks us dutiful citizenry If we hold bias against battery. Jurors who claim objectivity Satisfy lawyers through honesty. Enter gate to shiny olive seat, Raise right hand for oath before debate. Clerk stutters and mumbles words unclearly, I look confused so Judge dismisses me.

airborne ankles spin breakdance soles bruise plum-purple toes bubble blisters

jelly bellies roll smushed soles bruise purple as plums hips juggle sweat drops

Casual remark snubs Manager who blames Supervisor who accuses Employee who defends Stubborn pride. Accidental liars ignore Reason to apologize. Island survivors vote Weakest link: Declare with no care to explain, Order not return here again, Lure sinker of embarrassed shame, Burn brand new, unworn uniform, Ignite red lettered name in flame, Surprised to feel so little pain. For decisions immutable, Acceptance more honorable Than crying uncomfortable, Bummer to be so dispensable, When let go, simply say OK.

Indoor street hockey Players storm unfair referee: Sticks swing up too high, Give players five-second timeout! Goalies cannot score, Uneven teams, three vs. four! Skills out of balance, Wiffle balls all roll out-of-bounds! Ref abruptly quits, Friendly rivals enforce rule, strict, Keep sticks low to floor. Street players switch to sketch sidewalks, Rosy chalk sticks dust Princess with most pink cheeks ever.

Rain means slow days at the outdoor swimming pool of The Country Club.  Overcast skies and cool, damp air deter all the fair-weather-swimmers.  A lifeguard loses purpose at a pool with no swimmers.  Optional tasks might be to squeegee water out of flooding bathroom floors, tidy papers in the office, or take inventory of lost and found items in the closet.  My personal favorite course of inaction would be to climb to the top of the pile of white towels for a short n.  Instead, I suit up for a swim, and propel myself through the fog on a kickboard.  I feel like an otter.  A squirrel running underneath the row of lawnchairs, sometimes pausing, captivates my attention.  Heart thumping, rain drop dodging.

At fifteen minutes to two on the previous afternoon, I adjusted my helmet to bike out to The Country Club.  Sailing down the smooth sidewalks of Larz Anderson Park, I admired the flower and vegetable garden plots.  At the often-ignored stop sign on Goddard Avenue, I cautiously looked both ways at the cross walk, especially wary of drivers with ears glued to phones and with eyes blind to all pedestrians.  I veered on the bumpy asphalt of Clyde Street, and grit my teeth and bent my elbows to assert my place on the road.  Golf caddies stood in the hot sun waiting for Bus 51.  I waved hello. The Country Club entrance has a yellow stop sign with green letters.  The yellow buildings with horizontal wooden slats and signs with neat green letters seem to follow a uniform color code.  The design evokes friendly greetings between people wearing nametags.  Hello, Club House!  Hello, Curling Building!  Hello, Pool Café! Station wagons, SUVs with warm engines, and golf carts with keys still in the