CLOSE WINDOW
from Travel Guide
There as a woman as an ocean on a map she was mountain-small. The cartographer had not shaved she could not believe he had not shaved even in this abominable heat. She waited and waited for the unshaven cartographer. She waited and waited for the cartographer, his chin very feral. He was late, also. The mild heat coaxed a sweat from her—the palm trees floated over her vision and coaxed a sweat from her. Look, the woman said, I cannot bear this any longer. Look, she said, you fucking cartographer, you are very late. Do you know where we are, goddamnit? she insisted to the man who had yet to arrive. Do you know where we are? she insisted to the wind, which had yet to arrive. You have exactly five seconds to draw a shape and a name that explains why I am sweating and why you never will visit a barber.
Language of the Dog-Heads
by Cathy Eisenhower
(2001)
