Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Wretchedness (4/5)!
You will remember I promised you a brand new story, specifically written for this year's IPSTW festivities. But you will also notice that today we have only reached a count of four of five. You will, no doubt, think this a very flimsy excuse for my not posting a brand new story on Friday as promised. Nevertheless, what you are getting is an old poem of mine.
I wrote this during my first year of college on that faithful old Compaq Aero 4/25. It ran Windows 3.1 at the time, and it connected to the University of Washington internet portal via a 144,000 baud modum. Since high school I'd spent a lot of time in the Usenet group misc.writing, where I found and responded to calls for submission. One of them was the summer college litmag, Solstice, who ended up publishing "Rhododendron" in 1994. And one of them was an email 'zine called... do you know, I totally forget? The name had to do with cows, I remember that much. They didn't pay except in exposure. I sent them this poem that same year in the fall. They included it in their next edition.
TRACES IN A FAST FOOD RESTAURANT
The Sprite can is waiting
in faithful ignorance of abandonment.
It remembers your lips.
"He was here, I tell you
the ashtray told me so..." And so it goes:
Ashes to ashes. Presence to dust.
The cliche of lipstick
on a plastic straw, with a side of fries.
A table for one, tonight.
The story will be coming tomorrow, I promise.