Chagrin River Review
  • About Chagrin River Review
  • Archive
  • Submissions
  • Issue 11 (Spring 2018)
    • Grace Campbell
    • Christopher Acker
    • Jennifer Porter
    • Wendy Scott
    • Jeremy Schnotala
    • Christopher Lilley
    • Karen Weyant
    • Mercedes Lawry
    • Paul Hostovsky
    • Johnnie Clemens May
    • T. J. McGuire

Will Harris

Back to Issue 7

The Line

let’s call him joe
let’s say joe is not among
the lucky ones who realize early
perhaps have always known
there’s an overdue debt to be paid
 
some are quick to forgive themselves
drive the mile or thousand miles
fall on their knees before the clerk or cashier
lower their heads and
raise the check with both hands
 
some proclaim their rights
by phone message     e- or snail-mail
some insist they aren’t guilty
take their service numbers and place in line
do their time
and perhaps, someday
their case is settled
 
​
 

Mumbler

5 minutes into a 12-minute cab ride
joe realizes they’re on the desert road
headed out of town
Even in the faint dusk light
joe sees the hardening eyes in the mirror
 
At 80 kilometers and accelerating
the uneven shoulder falling into infinity
joe thinks      I might survive      if I leap
now      so he sits back      stares at him
in the mirror
 
American      the driver says again
and joe nods in the dark
the answer joe never denies
Taliban      the driver says to an unseen
entity hovering between them
that could be a daughter
a brother      the chief of a village
 
And still there’s light enough
to see the gritted teeth      the clean
nails      shaking the 50-caliber
steering wheel      10,000       the teeth manage
to say in startling English
10,000      the voice goes silent
like spent shells
 
Where do you work      the teeth ask
as the speedometer nudges past 120
The university
Umh      they say       Uummh
 
And the teeth begin mumbling a tune
distorted by pain      that once
sounded like a nursery rhyme
The university       they repeat
and hum more loudly       begin to rock
until the nursery rhyme becomes a moan
                                                           
joe sits still beside his acquaintance death     
looks nowhere makes no sound
150 on the speedometer       the governor
screams its steady tone
 
joe feels the teeth release the accelerator
they loop right at the next corner      loop right again
head back to a place of light
the teeth disappear from the mirror
they can no longer see
joe     the road       anymore       the nursery rhyme
has ceased        the teeth mumble
to nothing joe can see
 
when they arrive at Al Jimi Mall
the head that owns the teeth
slumps forward on the steering wheel
joe leans over the seat      sets the fare
and five-dirham tip
beside the head and the teeth
and exits the cab without looking back
until he hears the taxi edge forward
without a passenger



Originally from San Antonio, Texas, Will Harris was born into a military family and spent most of his public school years outside the U.S., particularly in England and Germany. After serving two military staff tours in the Middle East, he left the military but returned to live in the United Arab Emirates. He and his wife visit the U.S. during the summer months.

Will’s writing is forthcoming or has been published in African American Review, The Austin Writer, Cold Mountain Review, College Language Association Journal, Colorado-North Review, decomP, Eleventh Muse, Existere, Mantis, MELUS, NEBULA, Reunion: The Dallas Review, Storyscape, The Trinity Review, Voices in English, Wascana Review, Word Riot, Writers’ Forum, and The Zora Neale Hurston Forum.

​



Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.