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FamilyNathan CihlarBlack is....The bruise from being hit by my fatherFor pouring his vodka down the sink,Is the name of the bar where he drank his family away,The crawlspace, my hiding spot from the screaming matches.Funny FacesMegan SandbergBlack is....The last night we cried for each other,The jeep we were in when we crossed the center line,The asphalt where we last lay together.One of those DaysJordan EdwardsLeaning against the counter of ice cream cases,I fix my eyes on the couple, sipping their hot chocolates.The dainty girlʼs head is thrown back, laughingAt something the man she adores has said.I envy the happiness that is radiating from the table,Wondering why I am dressed in a frumpy blue shirt,Letting a co-worker make my day go from badTo worse.The constant smack of the sign reading ʻCup oʼ JoeʼAgainst the windowReminds me of the torrential downpourAnd the strong windsThat will make the walk to my carAnother reason my mind is clouded with derogatory thoughts.Glorious sounds of 4 stringsDylan FordStanding in the shadows, fingers strolling.Time-keeper, rhythm master.Introducing guitar to drums.Lack of two strings, four extra thick.Slap Thump, Pop Twang.Sounds of the trade.Backbone for the guitar to melt faces.The diamonds in the rough.Virtuosic players that glorify the instrument.An instrument, that given a chance stands out...And strikes awe in millions.Rebellious bassists,Who fight the treble-y sounds of guitar.Jazzy sounds from “Nawlins” and Mardi GrasFunky fresh rhythms.Melodic bass runs.Rare solos,That hold more feeling.Capturing many moods.I question now, as I push dirty water from one end of the counter to the next,If everything he said was true.If his reverse psychology that made me feel like the scum of the earthIs something I had earned.I feel myself falling short of expectations.I no longer have a desire to sing to the music,While scrubbing the hardened chocolate from the pans.As 10 oʼclock turns into 10:30,I think back to the 3 hours I wasted earlier in the afternoon,Regretting that I put off my A.P. statistics,The last thing I want to be doingAt the endOf this day.Katie Priddy6 Spring 2008