JR Walsh
Celebrating our cheese anniversary
Here is a maze.
I drew the maze.
Begin at start. Trace a line (use this pencil) straight forward until you are blocked. You are
blocked? The maze is defective. I drew the maze badly. I authorize you to jump that
blockade. Here let me– Give me– I used pen or I would erase the
blockage. Look here. Go again. Take back the pencil. Go until you are
stopped. You are stopped again? Go back the other way.
The way you just came from. There. It’s boxed in a sideways L with some pencil scratches in it.
Start. I know those are yours. How can you see your next move with all that back and forth scribbling?
Here. I’ve crossed out that barrier. Pretend it’s a pond. To wade through. Drag the pencil
through. Get your mouse to the cheese. I should’ve told you, you’re a mouse.
We’re mice. In the middle, that’s cheese. Swiss. See the holes? Those
are holes. I think we mice can swim.
Swim the shallow puddle. A puddle from a much-needed rain. A puddle of our mistakes. Just go again.
Start from here. You’re almost there. Give me the– Look–
If you can’t– Give me– You just jump these walls and you’re in the cheese. I know I know.
The pencil is dull now. Sharpeners are not in our budget.
Our bags were packed for us
Everyone asked, Why don't you move
away again?
They were sad that we were missing out
on the experiences everyone enjoyed so much.
The vibrating noise! The specific smells!
& not necessarily in this order.
Every fun example free from our loss.
We didn't wish to be swayed by public opinion,
so we only half-considered moving again.
But you can't only half-
move even if you think it will be
at least or
at most half-
fun.
We moved to take a vote.
It was unanimous.
Fun didn't move us one bit.
The Semester Always Flees
Special thanks to Feiga Khutoretsky
“Happy Friday of Mondays!”
Collective shrug.
“Something I'm trying out. Tell the people.”
Near-collective mystification.
“Only two more classes are left, so today's our last Monday!”
Student asks, “Will Wednesday be the Friday of Wednesdays?”
“Absolutely.”
“When's the Wednesday of Fridays?”
Calculating. “About seven weeks ago.”
Unison mumble. “Would’ve been nice to know.”
Four days later, “Happy Friday of Fridays!”
The instructors face falls off, suddenly sullen.
Tepid faces. Fidgeting.
“Remember those first days, when I couldn’t remember your names?”
It’s different now, the instructor doesn’t say.
“You want a medal?” nobody says, not out loud anyway.
“You promised cake.”
The podium spotlight flickers.
Nothing new, but rather,
consistent like slow blinks
or iambs Chaucer dreamed of before death.
JR Walsh teaches creative writing at SUNY Oswego. He is the Online Editor for The Citron Review. His writing is in beloved publications such as The Greensboro Review, New World Writing, Switch, Litro, The Hong Kong Review, FRiGG, Bull, Flash the Court, HAD, Fractured Literary, 50-word Stories, 3rd Wednesday, Taco Bell Quarterly, and Esquire. More: itsjrwalsh.com.
