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by Margaret Christakos He, he would go to that bar and beat up that man, him. The nurse, she and the doctor, he would finally get together. She, the lawyer would go back to wearing the short skirt suits. The gay stud, he would break stride with she, a woman; the lesbo couple would behave as if she/she actually had a kid, he. They would allow a few home scenes for the forensic detective, he, to show him in pyjamas. The story wouldn’t revolve around a she, the dead woman bleeding profusely from the old old old old hat. (That she, the woman would not be leaking.) The balding comic host, he could be not mean or jackass-y but just a bit bitter again. That the assistant, she would seduce her boss; that in the west wing there would be flaming he/he love. His, the lacklustre attorney’s toupee to fall, for the d.a., he to lick that temple. Truth on the news, she/he and news on the truth. In, s/he and in. ---------> <---------
Margaret Christakos' web presents:
bio at Scream in High Park, Not Egypt at Coach House Books, and two excerpts plus Margaret's comments at Narrativity. |