Author: tiphane

It’s a War Out There

Think: the ghost in Amadeus, Salieri trying to haunt Mozart With the image of the father Demanding excellence.   Some believe it is good To require To judge To reprimand To beat And what did you get, at the end? Resentment.   So, you ask, is Laissez Faire Any better? Is the writer without angst Not a writer? Is the army without the dehumanizing good at winning wars?   And yet Whose war was it When the voice said In a celebratory tone To go ahead With the rope The wobbly chair Whose war was to be won?   Yours, an odd war In which the other, The different, Isn’t deserving of a life.  

We Will Get an A Anyway

Life was hell, if you missed the last bus. Life was hell in our suburb anyway. We lived in the better part of the newly formed city, I was reminded every time I criticized it. But the walk home, across the bridge and through the not-so-better part of the newly formed city, where people drank their beer on the porch without bothering to pour it into a glass, was long and arduous. You wanted to avoid being seen by passing motorists, half of whom felt delighted by the sight of your thighs. Some day I should carry a pair of jeans to school, change into them there, but not change out of them on the way home. She would say something if she saw me, but they were always downstairs watching TV when I came in, so I could quickly go to my room and change. Sometimes I could even stay in my room and they wouldn’t bother checking how my day had been. Generally you came downstairs, sat on the couch and let your …